
AMERICAN BOOK COMPA! 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 



IN 



COMEDY AND SATIRE 



ARRANGED AND EDITED FOR THE SPECIAL USE 

OF TEACHERS' READING CIRCLES AND 

ROUND TABLES 



A COMPANION VOLUME TO 

''THE SCHOOLMASTER IN LITERATURE" 







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NEW YORK-:. CINCINNATI.:. CHICAGO 

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY 



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COPYBIGHT, 1894, BY 

AMEEICAN BOOK COMPANY. 



SCH. IN COM. 



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INTRODUCTION 



Two of the three humorists who are reckoned greatest in 
the literature of the world have left to us pictures of education 
which have passed into proverb. The greatest of dramatists 
devoted to the portrayal of an academy one of his brightest 
and happiest comedies. Of Pope's incomparable satire, the 
book which is distinguished as The Greater Dunciad is devoted 
to educational shams. Colman the Younger is still preserved 
from oblivion through the humorous delineation of educational 
absurdities in one of his dramas. The greatest and most pop- 
ular of novel writers, whose works exert an inestimable influ- 
ence in favor of reforms, owes his reputation largely to his 
satirical pictures of school life. The most popular English 
playwright of the past generation, and his contemporary, the 
favorite painter of manners among the dramatists of France, 
have both chosen teachers and pupils for the subjects of merry 
plays. A favorite German writer of to-day has been most 
happy in a character study of a German gymnasium. 

There is a potent moral force in humor and satire; and there 
are few stronger influences than these that can be brought to 
bear on the training of teachers and the improvement of sj^s- 
tems of education. Moreover, the rank of the authors to whom 
reference has been made, and of others as well, seems to ren- 
der it especially desirable that teachers shall become acquainted 
with their style, and with their place in literature. 



4 IiYTBODUCTION 

For this reason, and because of the favor with which The 
Schoolmaster in Literature has been received, the publishers 
offer this book as a companion volume, in the belief that it 
will be found a source of pleasure and of profit to teachers 
and to the general reader. 

With the satirical and humorous selections have been incor- 
porated some other extracts from modern classics, which have 
been greatly admired for their beauty and for their elevated 
tone. Among these are pen-pictures from the first of the 
great Russian novelists — Gogol — and from such other nota- 
ble authors as Fenelon, Maria Edgeworth, Nathaniel Parker 
Willis, and Arnaud Berquin, ' ' The Friend of the Children ' ' ; 
also a sketch from a representative American educator of the 
present time. 

The selections from Rabelais and Fenelon are revisions of 
old and standard English versions. The translations from 
Berquin, Scribe, Gogol, and Eckstein are original and new, 
having been prepared expressly for this volume. The render- 
ing oi " The Visit to the Cell " is by the late Hanford Skinner, 
and represents the last literary work of a gentleman of rare 
scholarship and promise. 

In order to adapt the volume especially to the needs of 
Reading Circles and Round Tables, and of individual students 
of literature and education, the book is divided into parts, 
corresponding to the months of the school year, and is 
furnished with outlines, pedagogical notes, and suggestive 
questions for reviews and examinations. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Francois Rabelais .9 

The Education of Gargantua and Pantagruel 12 

Kog-er Ascliam, the Father of English Schoolmasters . 31 

Ascham and his Pupils . 36 

William Shakspeare .45 

King Ferdinand's Academy 48 

Fenelon 73 

Telemaque and Mentor. . . , ' 76 

Jonathan Swift, the Great Irish Dean 101 

The Academy at Lagado 103 

Alexander Pope 129 

The Greater Dunciad . . 131 

Arnaud Berquin, the Friend of the Children . . .151 
Fashionable Education 152 

Colman the Young-er 179 

Dick Dowlas and his Tutor 181 

Maria Edgeworth 216 

The Dame School Holiday \ . . .218 

Eugene Scribe 259 

The Two Preceptors 260 

Nathaniel Parker Willis 289 

The Scholar of Thebet Ben Khorat 290 

Charles Dickens 301 

The Gradgrind System of Education 303 

5 



6 CONTENTS 

J»AGJi 

Gogol, the Father of Russian Novelists . . ; . . 381 

Tentetnikof and his Teachers 383. 

John Godfrey Saxe 410 

Progress 411 

Thomas William Robertson 421 

School 422 

Charles William Bardeen 453 

The Norway Free High School 454 

D'Arcy Wentworth Thompson 493 

School Drearas at Dunedin 494 

Ernst Eckstein .520 

The Visit to the Cell .521 

Outlines and Notes for Reading Ch'cle Work . . . 539 
Questions 588 



RABELAIS 
ASCHAM 



THE SCHOOLMASTEE IN COMEDY AND 

SATIRE 



FRANCOIS RABELAIS 

Everybody has heard of Don Quix'ote,i the hero of a famous Spanish 
story which has been translated into all the languages of the modern world. 
Every one has laughed at the poor man who became crazed by reading 
romances, and, imagining himself a knight of the old time, went about 
fighting windmills and killing sheep, all the while believing that he was 
performing prodigies of valor. Cervan'tes, the author of this burlesque, 
performed a great service to society. It has been said that he "laughed 
chiv^alry out of Europe." Monarchs and statesmen have often found the 
shafts of ridicule more formidable than hostile armies. So with chivalry, 
that system of government and society which had included much that was 
absurd with much that was heroic, and which had outlived its usefulness. 
It yielded to the satire of Don Quixote and disappeared. 

In much the same way the great French humorist Rabelais (rab'lay') 
rendered a service to mankind by portraying the absurdities of the educa- 
tion and government of his time. Much of his work is now deemed wholly 
unfit for general reading. Often its coarseness is shocking and disgusting. 
It is a matter of surprise to the unlearned that a work so foul at times in its 
language was ever permitted to exist. It must be judged historically by the 
good it has accomplished and by the standard of its day, which was very 
different from that which now obtains among the cultured nations. And so 
judged, we cannot regret that it was written. While we hide its indecencies 
in a just oblivion, we may even now enjoy a perusal of much that it con- 
tains. Had the work been written in any other way, it probably would 
never have exerted a potent influence for reform. Presumably it would 
have been forgotten within a few years, if, indeed, it would have attracted 
any considerable attention at all. 

1 Many persons imitate the Spanish pronunciation of this word. It is better 
to pronounce it according to English analogy. AVe have derived from it the 
genuine English words quixotic and quixotism. 

9 



10 FBANQOIS RABELAIS 

Fraii9ois (frahn-swah') Rabelais was born about the year 1495, at the 
village of Chiiion (shin-on'), in Touraine, France, where his birthplace is 
still pointed out to sight-seers. He was educated for the priesthood, and 
took orders in the church. Leaving the Benedictines without permission, 
he studied medicine at Montpellier, where there is still shown a doctor's 
gown which he wore, though much of it has been cut away in fragments 
by relic-hunting students. He practiced medicine at Lyons. All this time 
he was pursuing profound studies in Latin and Greek. At Lyons, Rabelais 
wrote a story of a giant whom he called Gargan'tua. In 1534, he published 
a sequel, portraying the life of the giant's son, Pantag'ruel. He continued 
to add to the story until 1564, when he completed a fourth book of Pantag- 
ruel. He tardily obtained from the Pope a pardon for his abandonment of 
the priesthood. Afterward he continued to practice medicine, and, later, 
he served again as a priest. He died in 1553. 

Rabelais wrote a number of books of a scientific character. He edited 
works on medicine, and published an annual almanac for seventeen years. 
Van Laun says of him : " Let it be well understood, . . . Rabelais was in 
his writings coarse, though never prurient ; i but in private life he was — 
there is, at least, nothing to the contrary — a respectable and outwardly 
moral man, a consistent Catholic, who preserved the respect of his supe- 
riors." 

Rabelais is reckoned one of the four greatest prose writers of the six- 
teenth century, and one of the three greatest humorists of all literature. 
It is not easy to estimate the influence of his great work upon society, and 
especially upon education in all the ages succeeding him. Probably much 
of the advancement which we enjoy to-day in the school world is owing to 
the fact that he set others to thinking and acting for the reformation of the 
old school system, and for the bringing in of a better, happier, and more 
fruitful era in the training of children. 

Rabelais is intensely, villainously, obtrusively coarse. Strange fact, but 
none the less true, that this very coatseness of humor and illustration 
obtained for him immunity from persecution, and secured for his flagella- 
tions a currency which the most refined and decorous wit, the most polished 
scholarship, would never have gained for them. In his admirable chapter 
on the education of Gargantua, he unfolds to us his own simple and rational 

1 An important distinction. An author may give expression to lewd thoughts, 
and lead the imagination to riot in impure fancies, while he employs only the 
most polished phrases. On the other hand, honest purpose and worthy thoughts 
may be expressed in language disfigured by coarseness. Byron and Gibbon are 
prurient, at times, without being coarse. Burns, like Rabelais, is sometimes 
coarse, while not prurient. Of the two, prurience is far more harmful than 
coarseness, in its influence on the mind. 



FRANgolS RABELAIS 11 

plan for the development of a human being from the uncorrupted elements 
of humanity. The mind and the body are cultivated side by side, without 
preference or forcing. The faculties and instincts of the child and the 
youth are allowed free play ; the moral and physical qualities are expanded 
by a healthy and well-directed exercise. No hour of the day was without 
its due provision of recreation, of relaxation, or of appointed study. 

— Henry Van Laun. 

Who has not heard of the giant Grangousier (grahn-goo-se-a') and of his 
wife Gargamelle', and of their son Gargantua. The latter cries, on coming 
into the world, "Drink! Drink!" and gives proof of an extraordinary in- 
telligence. His happy endowments, however, are scarcely developed by his 
teachers. Tubal Holofer'nes and Jobelin Bride (zhobe-lan' bre-day'); and 
Grangousier, dissatisfied with his son's progress, complains to his friend, 
the Viceroy of Papeligosse, who brings to him the page Eude'mon, "so 
neat, so trim, so handsome in his behavior, that he had the resemblance of 
a little angel, more than of a human creature." Eudemon speaks so well 
in Latin to Grangousier, that he decides to give to his son, for his preceptor, 
Ponoc'rates, the teacher of the learned page, and sends them all three to 
Paris, to see what were the studies of the youths of France. Gargantua 
enters Paris on his enormous mare, carries away the bells from Notre Dame 
(cathedral), fastens them to the neck of his horse, and returns them to the 
Parisians only after a learned harangue of Master Jano'tus de Bragmar'do. 
Meantime occurs the most important part of the work of Rabelais, the 
education of Gargantua, which the masters of the old school and the system 
of Ponocrates give him. Rabelais wishes that his pupil shall cultivate his 
body as well as his mind, and busies him with physical as well as mental 
exercises. Probably this system suggested some points to Montaigne for 
his Institution of Children, and to Rousseau for his JEmile (a-meel'). 

The son of Gargantua and of Badebec has many adventures which we 
cannot mention here. We note only some incidents of the Pantagruel. 
First, the criticism of the macaronic ^ language of some writers of the 
period, indicated by the speech the Limosin ^ scholar, who comes from " the 
alme,^ inclyte, and celebrate Academy, which is vocitated Lutetia. ' Where,' 



1 Macaronic words are formed by the addition of terminations of one lan- 
guage to roots of another language. Macaronic compositions, written in bur- 
lesque, contain, generally, genuine words from both languages, interspersed 
among the hybrid compounds. 

2 Limosin, or Limousin (pronounced le-moo-san'), refers to an ancient divi- 
sion of France, from which the pedantic student is supposed to have come. 

3 The substance of the quotation is as follows : "the nourishing, lively, and 
celebrated resort of the learned which is called Lute'tia (the Latin name for 



12 FitANQOIS RABELAIS 

says he, *we transfretate the Sequan at the dilucal and crepuscul; we deam- 
bulate by the compites and quadrives of the m?-& ; we despumate the ZafrnZ 
verbocination ; and, like verisimilar ie amorabons, we capiat the benevolence of 
the omnijugal, omniform, and omnigenal feminine sex.' " 

We remark always that, in spite of their excellent ideas, the three 
educators, Rabelais, Montaigne, and Rousseau (roo-so') have not a suffi- 
ciently practical system, since the education which they give to their pupil 
can be given only by a particular preceptor, and cannot be applied to classes 
of students.^ — Alcee Fortibr. 



THE EDUCATIOlSr OE GAEGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL 
I. How Gargantua was taught Latin by a Sophister 

The good man Grangousier was ravished with admiration, 
considering the high reach and marvelous understanding of his 
son Gargantua, and said to his governesses : 

"Philip, King of Macedon, knew the great wit of his son 
Alexander by his skillful managing of a horse ; for his horse 
Buceph'alus was so fierce and unruly that none durst adventure 
to ride him, after that he had given to his riders such devilish 
falls, breaking the neck of this man, the other man's leg, brain- 
ing one, and cracking another's jawbone. This being consid- 
ered by Alexander, one day in the Hippodrome (which was a 
place appointed for the breaking and managing of great horses) 
he perceived that the fury of the horse proceeded merely from 
the fear he had of his own shadow ; whereupon, getting on his 
back, he ran him against the sun, so that the shadow fell behind, 

Paris). "Where we cross the Se'quana (the Latin name for the Seine) at the 
dawn and in the evening ; we walk away by the crossings and passages of 
the city ; we throw out shouts from the lungs ; and, like true lovers, we win 
the favor of the feminine sex, of whatever condition, appearance, or birth." 

1 This is the most general criticism passed upon the system of education 
portrayed by Rabelais. If the system were generally followed, the number of 
instructors would have to be increased enormously, and few men of the popula- 
tion would be left to engage in other professions. 



EDUCATION OF GABGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL 18 

and by that means tamed the horse and brought him to liis 
hand. Whereby his father, perceiving his marvelous capacity 
and divine insight, caused him most carefully to be instructed 
by Aristotle, who at that time was highly renowned above all 
the philosophers of Greece. After the same manner I tell you 
that by this only discourse, which now I have hel-e had before 
you with my son Gargantua, I know that his understanding 
doth participate of some divinity; and that if he be well taught 
and have that education which is fitting, he will attain to a 
supreme degree of wisdom. Therefore will I commit him to 
some learned man, to have him indoctrinated according to his 
capacity, and will spare no cost." 

Presently they appointed for him a great sophister-doctor, 
called Master Tubal Holofernes,^ who taught him his A B C so 
well that he could say it by heart backwards ; and about this 
he was five years and three months.^ 

Then read he to him Donat,^ Le Fac'et, Theod^olet, and 
Alan'us, In Parah'olis. About this he was thirteen years, six 
months, and two weeks. But you must remark that in the 
meantime he did learn to write in Gothic characters, and that 
he wrote all his books, for the art of printing was not then in 
use ; and did ordinarily carry a great pen and inkhorn, Aveigh- 
ing above seven thousand quintals, the pen-case whereof was as 
big and as long as the great pillar of Enay ; and the horn was 
hanged to it in great iron chains, it being of the wideness to 
hold a ton of merchandise. 

After that was read unto him, the book De Mo'dis Signiji- 
can'di^^ with the Commentaries of Hurtbise, of Fasquin, of 
Tropditeux, of Gaulhault, of John Calf, of Billonio, of Berlin- 

1 The name Holofernes is taken from The Book of Judith in the Apocrypha. 
The original Holofernes was a detestable tyrant. 

- Gargantua was a long time learning the alphabet. Evidently his instructors 
did not employ improved methods of teaching. Rabelais appears to have seen 
clearly the fruitlessness of the old-time school regime. 

3 Here follow some forgotten old Latin books, utterly unsuited to the needs 
of youths. 

•* The book De Modis Significandi was a treatise on modes of expression. 



14 FRAN Q 01 S RABELAIS 

guandus, and a rabble of others; and herein he spent more 
than eighteen years and eleven months, and was so well versed 
therein that, to try masteries in school disputes with his fellow 
pupils, he would recite it by heart backwards ; and did some- 
times prove on his fingers' ends to his mother that Be Modis 
Significandi non erat scientia?- Then was read to him the 
Compost, on which he spent sixteen years and two months. 
And at that very time, which was in the year 1420, his Pre- 
ceptor died. 

Afterwards he got an old coughing fellow to teach him, 
named Master Jobelin Bride, who read unto him, Hugu'tio,^ 
Heb'rard, Gre'cism, the Doc'trinal, the Pars^ the Quid est, the 
Supplementum, Marmotretus, de Mo7^ihus in Mensa Servandis, 
Seneca de Quattuor Virtutihus Cardinalihus, Passaventus cum 
Commento, and Dormi Secure, for the holidays, and other stuff ; 
by reading whereof he became as wise as any we ever since 
baked in an oven. 

II. How GarGANTUA WAS PUT UNDER OtHER SCHOOLMASTERS 

At last his father perceived that indeed he studied hard, and 
that, although he spent all his time therein, yet for all that he 
did profit nothing ; but, which is worse, grew thereby a fool, 
a sot, a dolt, and blockhead ; whereof making a heavy com- 
plaint to Don Philip of Marays, Viceroy of Papeligosse, he 
found that it were better for his son to learn nothing at all 
than to be taught such like books, under such schoolmasters, 
because their knowledge was nothing but all trifle, and their 
wisdom foppery, serving only to bastardize good and noble 
spirits, and to corrupt the whole flower of youth. 

" That it is so," said he, " any young boy of this time who 
hath only studied two years, if he have not a better judgment, 
a better discourse, and that expressed in better terms than your 



1 That De Modis Significandi was not science. 

2 Here follow more old Latin books, to satirize the courses of study in the time 
of Rabelais. 



EDUCATION OF GARGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL 15 

son, with a completer carriage and civility to all manner of 
persons, account me forever hereafter a very clounch, and a 
bacon-slicer of Brene." 

This pleased Grangousier very well, and he commanded that 
it should be done. 

At night, at supper, the said Don Philip brought in a young 
page of his, of Ville-gouges, called Eudemon, so neat, so trim, 
so handsome in his apparel, so spruce, with his hair in so good 
order, and so sweet and comely in his behavior, that he had 
the resemblance of a little angel more than of a human crea- 
ture. Then he said to Grangousier: 

" Do you see this young boy ? He is not as yet full twelve 
years old ; let us try (if you like) what difference there is 
betwixt the knowledge of the useless dunces of old time and 
the young lads that are now. ' ' 

The trial pleased Grangousier, and he commanded the page 
to begin. Then Eudemon, asking leave of the Viceroy, his 
master, so to do, with his cap in his hand, a clear and open 
countenance, beautiful and ruddy lips, his eyes steady, and his 
looks fixed upon Gargantua with a youthful modesty, standing 
up straight on his feet, began to commend him, first, for 
his virtue and good manners ; secondly, for his knowledge ; 
thirdly, for his nobility ; fourthly, for his bodily accomplish- 
ments ; and in the fifth place, most sweetly exhorted him to rev- 
erence his father with all due observancy, who was so careful 
to have him well brought up. In the end, he prayed him that 
he would vouchsafe to admit him amongst the least of his 
servants ; for he desired at that time no other favor of Heaven, 
but that he might do to him some grateful and acceptable 
service. 

All this was delivered by him with such proper gestures, 
such distinct pronunciation, so pleasant a delivery, in such ex- 
quisite, fine terms, and in so good Latin, that he seemed rather 
a Grac'chus, a Cic'ero, an ^mil'ius of the time past, than a 
youth of his age. But all the countenance that Gargantua kept 
was, that he fell to crying like a cow, and cast down his face, 



16 FBANQOIS RABELAIS 

hiding it with his cap, nor could they possibly draw one word 
from him. 

Whereat his father was so grievously vexed that he would 
have killed Master Jobelin, but the said Don Philip withheld 
him from it by fair persuasion, so that at length he pacified his 
wrath. Then Grangousier commanded that he should be paid 
his wages, that they could whittle him up soundly, sophister- 
like, and then give him to all the devils. 

' ' At least, ' ' said he, ' ' to-day shall it not cost him much to 
his host if by chance he should die as drunk as an English- 
man. " 

Master Jobelin being gone out of the house, Grangousier 
consulted with the Viceroy what schoolmaster they should 
choose for him, and it was betwixt them resolved that Ponoc- 
rates, the tutor of Eudemon, should have the charge, and that 
they should go all together to Paris, to know what was the 
study of the young men of France at that time. 

III. How Gargaxtua was instructed by Ponocrates, and 
IX Such Sort disciplixated that he lost not One Hour 
of the Day 

When Ponocrates knew Gargantua's vicious manner of li^^- 
ing, he resolved to bring him up in another way ; but for a 
while bore with him, considering that nature cannot endure 
a sudden change without great violence. Therefore, to begin 
his work the better, he requested .a learned physician of that 
time, called Master Theodore, seriously to perpend, if it were 
possible, how to bring Gargantua unto a better course. The 
said physician purged him canonically with Anticyrian helle- 
bore,^ by which medicine he cleansed all that foulness and per- 
verse habit of his brain. By this means, also, Ponocrates made 
him forget all that he had learned under his ancient preceptors, 

1 Hellebore (from Anticyria) is used medicinally as a purgative. The word 
is here employed in a figurative sense. 



EDUCATION OF GARGANTUA AND PANTAGEUEL 17 

as Timotheus did to liis scholars who had been instructed under 
other musicians. 

To do this the better, they brought him into the company 
of learned men, which stirred in him an emulation and desire 
to whet his wit and improve his parts, and to bend his study 
another way, so as that the world might have a value for him. 
And afterwards he put himself into such a road that he lost 
not any one hour in the day, but employed all his time in learn- 
ing and honest knowledge. 

Gargantua awaked about four o'clock in the morning. 
Whilst they were in rubbing of him, there was read unto him 
some chapter of the Holy Scriptures aloud and clearly, with a 
pronunciation fit for the matter ; and hereunto was appointed 
a young page, born in Basche, named Anagnos'tes. According 
to the purpose and argument of that lesson, he oftentimes gave 
himself to worship, adore, pray, and send up his supplications 
to that good God whose word did show His majesty and mar- 
velous judgment.^ Then his master repeated what had been 
read, expounding unto him the most obscure and difficult 
points. In returning, they considered the face of the sky, if 
it were such as they had observed it the night before, and into 
what Signs the sun was entering, as also the moon, for that 
day. This done, he was appareled, combed, curled, trimmed, 
and perfumed, during which time they repeated to him the les- 
sons of the day before ; and he himself said them by heart, and 
upon them would ground some practical cases concerning the 
estate of man, which he would prosecute sometimes two or 
three hours ; but ordinarily they ceased as soon as he was fully 
clothed. 

Then for three good hours he had a lecture read unto him ; 
this done, they went forth, still conferring on the substance of 
the lecture, either unto a field ^ near the University, called the 

1 The author intends no burlesque in his description of the youth's morning 
devotions, nor, indeed, in the descriptions which follow in the account of the 
day's employments. 

2 Rabelais was a firm believer in the physical training of youths. 

SCH. IN COM. — 2 



18 FEANQOIS BABEL A IS 

Brack, or unto the meadows, where they played at the ball, 
tennis, and at the trigon, most gallantly exercising their bodies, 
as before they had done their minds. All their play was but 
in liberty, for they left off when they pleased, and that was 
commonly when they did sweat over all their body or were 
otherwise weary. 

Then were they very well wiped and rubbed, shifted their 
shirts, and, walking soberly, went to see if dinner was ready. 
Whilst they stayed for that, they did clearly and eloquently 
pronounce some sentences that they had retained of the lecture. 
In the meantime. Master Appetite came, and then very orderly 
sat they down at table. At the beginning of the meal there 
was read some pleasant history of the warlike actions of former 
times, until he had taken a glass of wine. Then (if they 
thought good) they continued reading, or began to discourse 
merrily together, speaking first of the virtue, propriety, efficacy, 
and nature of all that was served in at the table ; of bread, of 
wine, of water, of salt, of fleshes, fishes, fruits, herbs, roots, and 
of their dressing ; by means whereof he learned, in a little time, 
all the passages appropriate for this ^ that were to be found in 
Plin^? Athense'us, Dioscor'ides, Julius Pol'lux, Ga'len, Por'- 
phyry, Op^pien, Polyb'ius, Heliodo'rus, Aristo'tle, E'lian, and 
others. 

Whilst they talked of these things many times, to be more 
certain, they caused the very books to be brought to the table. 
And so well and perfectly did he in his memory retain the 
things above said, that in those days there was not a physician 
that knew half so much as he did. Afterwards they conferred 
of the lessons read in the morning ; and ending their repast 
with some conserve or marmalade of quinces, he picked his 
teeth with mastic tooth-pickers, washed his hands and eyes 
with fair, fresh water, and gave thanks unto God in some neat 
hymn, made in the praise of the Divine bounty and munificence. 

1 Rabelais does not discourage an acquaintance with extracts from classic 
authors. What he holds up to ridicule is the over-loading of the mind with 
laborious detail. 



EBVCATION OF GAUGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL 19 

This done, they brought in cards ; not to play, but to learn 
a thousand petty tricks and new inventions, which were all 
grounded upon arithmetic. 

By this means he fell in love with that numerical science ; 
and every day, after dinner and supper, he passed his time in 
it as pleasantly as he was wont to do at cards and dice ; so that, 
at last, he understood so well both the theory and practical 
part thereof, that Tunstal, the Englishman, who had written 
very largely to that purpose, confessed that, verily, in com- 
parison of him, he understood no more High Dutch. 

And not only in that, but in the other mathematical sciences, 
as geometry, astronomy, and music. For, in waiting on the 
concoction and attending the digestion of his food, they made 
a thousand pretty instruments and geometrical figures, and did 
in some measure practice the astronomical canons. 

After this they recreated themselves with singing musically, 
in four or five parts, ^ or upon a set theme or ground at random 
as it best pleased them; in matter of musical instruments he 
learned to play upon the flute, the virginals, the harp, the 
flute with nine holes, the viol, and the sackbut. This hour 
thus spent, and digestion finished, he then betook himself to 
his principal study for three hours together or more, as well 
to repeat his morning lectures, as to proceed in the book he 
had in hand, as also to write handsomely, to draw and form 
the antique and Roman letters. 

This being done, they went abroad, and with them a young 
gentleman of Touraine named the Esquire Gymnast, who 
taught him the art of riding. Changing, then, his clothes, he 
rode a Naples courser, a Dutch stallion, a Spanish genet, a 
barded or trapped steed, then a light fleet horse which he 
gave a hundred races, made him do the high leaps, bound- 
ing in the air, free the ditch with a skip, leap over a stile 
or pail, turn short in a ring, both to the right and left hand. 

1 Eabelais appreciated the value of a musical education. The value of music 
in the home and in the school is not likely to be overestimated. 



20 FBANgOIS BABELAIS 

There he broke not his lance; for it is the greatest foolery in 
the world to say, "• I have broken ten lances at tilt, or in fight ;" 
a carpenter can do even as much: but it is a glorious and 
praiseworthy action, with one lance to break and overthrow ten 
enemies; therefore with a sharp, stiff, strong, and well-steeled 
lance would he usually force up a door, pierce a harness, beat 
down a tree, carry away the ring, lift up a cuirassier saddle, 
with the mail coat and gauntlet. All this he did in complete 
armor, from head to foot.^ 

As for the prancing flourishes and smacking displays for 
the better cherishing of the horse commonly used in riding, 
none did them better than he. The great vaulter of Ferrara 
was but an ape compared to him. He was singularly skillful 
in leaping nimbly from one horse to another without putting 
foot to ground, and these horses were called desultories ; he 
could likewise, from either side, with a lance in his hand, leap 
on horseback without stirrups, and rule the horse at his pleasure 
without a bridle, for such things are useful in military engage- 
ments. Another day he exercised the battle-ax, which he so 
dexterously wielded both in the nimble, strong, and smooth 
management of that weapon, and in all the feats practiceable 
by it, that he passed knight of arms in the field, and at all 
essays. 

Then tossed he the pike, played with the two-handed sword, 
with the back-sword, with the Spanish tuck, the dagger, 
poniard, armed or unarmed, with a buckler, with a cloak, with 
a target. 

Then would he hunt the hart, the roebuck, the bear, the 
fallow deer, the wild boar, the hare, the pheasant, the par- 
tridge, and the bustard. He played at the balloon, and made 
it bound in the air, both with fist and foot. 

He wrestled, ran,^ jumped, not at three steps and a leap, nor 
at the hare's leap, nor yet at the almanes ; ^ " for," said Gym- 

1 Greater value was attached to feats of personal prowess in the old time than 
at the present day. 

2 A jumping or dancing exercise, borrowed from the Germans. 



EDUCATION OF GABGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL 21 

nasy, "these jumps are altogether unprofitable for the wars, 
and of no use; " but at one leap he would skip over a ditch, 
spring over a hedge, mount six paces upon a wall, ramp and 
grapple after this fashion up against a window, of the full 
height of a lance. 

He did swim in deep waters on his belly, on his back, side- 
Avays, with all his body, with his feet only, with one hand in 
the air, wherein he held a book, crossing thus the breadth of the 
River Seine without wetting it, and dragged along his cloak 
with his teeth, as did Julius Csesar; ^ then, with the help of 
one hand, he entered forcibly into a boat, from whence he cast 
himself again headlong into the water, sounded the depths, 
hollowed the rocks, and plunged into the pits and gulfs. 
Then turned he the boat about, governed it,^ led it swiftly or 
slowly, with the stream and against the stream, stopped it in 
its course, guided it with one hand, and with the other laid 
hard about him with a huge great oar, hoisted the sail, hied up 
along the mast by the shrouds, ran upon the edge of the decks, 
set the compass in order, tackled the bowlines and steered the 
helm. 

Coming out of the water, he ran furiously up against a hill, 
and with the same alacrity and swiftness ran down again; he 
climbed up trees like a cat, and leaped from one to the other 
like a squirrel ; he did pull down the great boughs and branches 
like another Mi'lo; then with two sharp, well-steeled daggers 
and two tried bodkins, would he run up by the wall to the very 
top of a house, like a rat; then suddenly come down from the 
top to the bottom, with such an even composition of members 
that by the fall he would catch no harm. 

He did cast the dart, throw the bar, put the stone, practice 
the javelin, the boar-spear, or partisan, and the halbert; he 



1 Caesar saved himself from capture at Alexandria by swimming. Unwilling 
to cast away a manuscript of his writings, which he had with him, he held it 
out of the water with one hand, and swam with one arm. 

2 Evidently Rabelais regarded swimming and boating as an imp )rtant part of 
the physical education of a youth. 



22 FRANQOIS RABELAIS 

broke the strongest bows in drawing, bended against his breast 
the greatest crossbows of steel, took his aim by the eye with 
the hand-gun, and shot well, traversed and planted the cannon, 
shot at targets, at flying pigeons from below upwards, from 
above downwards, then before him, sideways, and behind him 
like the Par'thians. 

They tied a cable rope to the top of a high tower, by one 
end whereof, hanging near the ground, he wrought himself 
with his hands to the very top ; then upon the same track 
came down so sturdily and firm that they could not, on a plain 
meadow, have run with more assurance. They set up a great 
pole, fixed upon two trees. There he would hang by his hands, 
and with them alone, his feet touching at nothing, would go 
back and forth along the aforesaid rope, with so great swiftness 
that hardly could one overtake him with running; and then, 
to exercise his breast and lungs, he would shout like all the 
devils. I heard him once call Eudemon from St. Victor's gate 
to Montmartre; Stentor had never such a voice at the siege of 
Troy. 

Then, for the strengthening of his nerves or sinews, they 
made him two great sows of lead, each of them weighing 
eight thousand and seven hundred quintals, which they called 
alteres ; those he took up from the ground, in each hand one, 
then lifted them up over his head, and held them without 
stirring, three quarters of an hour or more, which was an 
inimitable force. 

He fought at barriers with the stoutest and most vigorous 
champions; and when it came to the cope, he stood so sturdily 
on his feet that he abandoned himself to the strongest, in case 
they could remove him from his place, as Milo was wont to do 
of old; in whose imitation, likewise, he held a pomegranate 
in his hand, to give it unto him that could take it from him. 
The time being thus bestowed, and himself rubbed, cleansed, 
wiped, and refreshed with other clothes, he returned fair and 
softly, and, passing through certain meadows or other grassy 
places, beheld the trees and plants, comparing them with 



EDUCATION OF GARGANTUA AND PANTAGBUEL 23 

what is written of them in the books ^ of the ancients, such as 
The'ophrast, Dioscor'ides, Mari'nus, Plin'y, Nican'der, Ma'cer, 
and Ga'len, and carried home to the house great handfuls of 
them, whereof a young page called Rhizotomos had charge; 
together with the little mattocks, pickaxes, grubbing hooks, 
hoes, pruning knives, and other instruments requisite for 
gardening. 

Being come to their lodging whilst supper was making ready, 
they repeated certain passages of that which had been read, and 
then seated themselves at table. Here remark that his dinner 
was sober and thrifty, for he did then eat only to prevent the 
gnawings of his stomach; but his supper was copious and 
large, for he took then as much as Avas fit to maintain and 
nourish him; which, indeed, is the true diet prescribed by the 
art of good and sound physic, although a rabble of logger- 
headed physicians, nuzzled in the brabbling shop of sophisters, 
counsel the contrary. ^ During that repast was continued the 
lesson read at dinner, as long as they thought good; the rest 
was spent in good discourse, learned and profitable. 

After they had given thanks, he set himself to sing vocally 
and play upon harmonious instruments, or otherwise passed 
his time at some pretty sports, made with cards or dice, or 
in practicing the feats of legerdemain, with cups and balls. 
There they stayed some nights in frolicking thus, and mak- 
ing themselves merry till it was time to go to bed; and on 
other nights they would go make visits unto learned men, 
or to such as had been travelers in strange and remote coun- 
tries. 

When it was full night, before they retired themselves, they 
went unto the most open place of the house to see the face of 



1 Rabelais saw the importance of studying the plants themselves, and was not 
satisfied with mere " book" botany. 

2 Rabelais thus holds that the principal meal of the day — the real dinner — 
should be eaten at the close of the day, and this in opposition to the physicians 
of his time. This practice is almost universal in large cities at the present day, 
and is growing in favor everywhere. 



24 FRANQOIS SABELAIS 

the sky, and there beheld the comets, if any were, as likewise 
the figures, situations, aspects, opposition, and conjunctions of 
both fixed stars and planets. 

Then with his master did he briefly recapitulate, after the 
manner of the Pythago'reans, that which he had read, seen, 
learned, done, and understood, in the whole course of that 
day. 

Then prayed they unto God the Creator, falling down before 
Him, and strengthening their faith towards Him, and glorify- 
ing Him for His boundless bounty; and giving thanks to Him 
for the time that was past, they recommended themselves to 
His Divine clemency for the future, which being done, they 
went to bed and betook themselves to their repose. 

ly. How Gargantua spent his Time in Rainy Weather 

If it happened that the weather was anything cloudy, foul, 
and rainy, all the forenoon was employed as before specified, 
according to custom, with this difference only, that they had 
a good clear fire lighted, to correct the distempers of the air; 
but after dinner, instead of their wonted exercitations, they 
did abide within, and, by way of amusement, did recreate 
themselves in bottling of hay, in cleaving and sawing of wood, 
and in threshing sheaves of corn at the barn. 

Then they studied the art of painting or carving, or brought 
into use the antique (ancient) play of Tables, as Leon'icus has 
written of it and as our good friend Las'caris playeth at it. 
In playing, they examined the passages of ancient authors 
wherein the said play is mentioned, or any metaphor drawn 
from it. They went likewise to see the drawing of metals ^ 
or the casting of great ordnance; how the lapidaries did* 
work, as also the goldsmiths, and cutters of precious stones; 

1 Rabelais appreciated the value of a knowledge of the useful arts and an 
acquaintance with the various forms of industry of his time, as a part of a lib- 
eral education. Such knowledge had been looked upon with contempt by young 
gentlemen of fortune. 



EDUCATION OF GARGANTUA AND PAJSTAGRUEL 25 

nor did tliey omit to visit the alchemists, money-coiners, 
upholsterers, weavers, velvet-workers, watchmakers, looking- 
glass framers, printers, organists, dyers, and other such kind 
of artificers, and, everywhere giving them somewhat to drink, 
did learn and consider the industry and invention of the 
trade. 

They went also to hear the public lectures, the solemn com- 
mencements, the repetitions, the acclamations, the pleadings 
of the lawyers, and sermons of evangelical preachers. 

He went through the halls and places appointed for fencing, 
and there played against the masters themselves at all weapons, 
and showed them by experience that he knew as much in it as 
(yea more than) they; and instead of simpling, they visited 
the shops of druggists, herbalists, and apothecaries, and dili- 
gently considered the fruits, roots, leaves, gums, seeds, the 
grease and ointments of some foreign parts, as also how they 
adulterate them (i.e. all the said drugs). 

He went to see the jugglers, tumblers, mountebanks, and 
quacksalvers, and considered their cunning, their shifts, their 
somersaults, and smooth tongue, especially of those of Chauny, 
in Picardy, who are naturally great praters, and will banter 
and lie as fast as a dog can trot. 

Being returned home, they did eat at supper more soberly 
than at other times; and meats more desiccative and extenu- 
ating, to the end that the intemperate moisture of the air, com- 
municated to the body by a necessary confinity, might by this 
means be corrected, and that they might not receive any prej- 
udice for want of their ordinary bodily exercise. 

Thus was Gargantua governed and kept on in this course 
of education, from day to day profiting, as you understand 
such a young man of his age and good sense so kept to his 
exercise may well do; which, although at the beginning it 
seemed difficult, became a little after so sweet, so easy, and 
so delightful, that it seemed rather the recreation of a King 
than the study of a scholar. 

Nevertheless Ponocrates, to divert him from his vehement 



26 FRANgoiS BABELAIS 

tension of the spirits, thought fit once in a month, ^ upon some 
fair and clear day, to go out in the city betimes in the morn- 
ing, either towards Gentilly or Boulogne, or to Montrouge or 
Charentonbridge, or to Vanves or St. Cloud, and there spend 
all the day long in making the greatest cheer that could be 
devised, sporting, making merry, drinking healths, playing, 
singing, dancing, tumbling in some fair meadow, unnestling 
of sparrows, taking of quails, and fishing for frogs and 
crabs. 

But although that day was passed without books or lecture, 
yet was it not spent without profit; for in the said meadows 
they usually repeated certain pleasant verses of Ver^gil's Agri- 
culture^ of He'siod, and of Poli'tian's Husbandry^ would set 
abroach some witty Latin epigrams, then immediately turned 
them into roundelays and songs in the French language. In 
their feasting they would sometimes separate the water from 
the wine that was therewith mixed, as Ca'to teacheth Be Re 
Rustica; and Pliny, with an ivy cup, could wash the wine in 
a basin full of water, then take it out again v/ith a funnel as 
pure as ever. They made the water go from one glass to 
another, and contrived a thousand little automatic engines. 

V. A Letter from Gargantua to his Son Pantagruel 



That which I now write unto thee is not so much that thou 
shouldst live in this virtuous course, as that thou shouldst 
rejoice in so living, and, having lived, cheer up thyself with 
the like resolution in time to come. To the prosecution and 
accomplishment of which enterprise and generous undertak- 
ing, thou mayst easily remember how that I have spared noth- 
ing, but have so helped thee as if I had had no other treasure 
in this world but to see thee once in my life completely well- 

1 Rabelais was a believer in frequent and short vacations. The "drinking 
healths" which he recommends was the universal custom of his time, and, 
doubtless, he was unconscious of any impropriety in this diversion. 



EDUCATION OF GARGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL 27 

bred and accomplished, as well in virtue, honesty, and valor, 
as in all liberal knowledge and civility ; and so to leave thee 
after my death, as a mirror, representing the person of me thy 
father ; and if not so excellent, and such indeed as I do wish 
thee, yet such in desire. 

But although my deceased father, of happy memory, Gran- 
gousier, had bent his best endeavors to make me profit in all 
perfection and political knowledge, and that my labor and 
study was fully correspondent to, yea, went beyond, his 
desire, nevertheless, as thou mayst well understand, the time 
then was not so proper and fit for learning as it is at present, 
neither had I plenty of such good masters as thou hast had ; 
for that time was darksome, obscured with clouds of igno- 
rance, and savoring a little of the infelicity and calamity of the 
Goths, who had, wherever they set footing, destroyed all 
good literature, which in my age hath by the Divine goodness 
been restored unto its former light and dignity, and that with 
such amendment and increase of knowledge that now hardly 
should I be admitted upon to the first form of the little gram- 
mar-school boys. I say I, who in my youthful days was (and 
that justly) reputed the most learned of that age. 

Which I do not speak in vain boasting, although I might 
lawfully do it in writing unto thee, by the authority of Marcus 
Tul'lius in his book of Old Age^ and the sentence of Plutarch 
in the book entitled Sow a Man may raise himself without 
Envy^ but to give thee an emulous encouragement to strive 
yet farther. 

Now it is ^ that the minds of men are qualified with all 
manner of discipline, and the old sciences revived, which for 
many ages were extinct ; now it is that the learned languages 
are to their pristine purity restored — viz. Greek (without 
which a man may be ashamed to account himself a scholar), 
Hebrew, Arabic, Chaldean, and Latin. Printing, likewise, is 

1 Gargantua wishes to impress upon his son the great advantages which tlie 
invention of printing had brought, and the responsibility of those who, having 
these advantages, do not improve them. 



28 FBANgoiS RABELAIS 

now in use, so elegant, and so correct, that better cannot be 
imagined, although it was found out in my time but by divine 
inspiration ; as, by a diabolical suggestion, on the other side, 
was the invention of ordnance. All the world is full of 
knowing men, of most learned schoolmasters, and vast libraries ; 
and it appears to me as a truth that neither in Plato's time, 
nor Cicero's, nor Papin'ian's, there was ever such conveniency 
for studying, as we see at this day there is. Nor must any 
adventure henceforward to come in public or represent himself 
in company that hath not been pretty well polished in the 
shop of Minerva. I see robbers, hangmen, freebooters, tap- 
sters, hostlers, and such like, of the very rubbish of the people, 
more learned now than the doctors and preachers were in my 
time. 

What shall I say ? The very women and children have 
aspired to this praise and celestial manna of good learning ; 
yet so it is, that at the age I am now of, I have been con- 
strained to learn the Greek tongue, which I contemned not 
like Cato, but had not the leisure in my younger years to 
attend the study of it. And I take much delight in the read- 
ing of Plutarch's morals, the pleasant dialogues of Plato, the 
monuments of Pausa'nias, and the antiquities of Athense'us, 
whilst I wait the hour wherein God, my Creator, shall call me, 
and command me to depart from this earth and transitory 
pilgrimage. Wherefore, my son, I admonish thee to employ 
thy youth to profit as well as thou canst, both in thy studies 
and in virtue. Thou art at Paris, where the laudable examples 
of many brave men may stir up thy mind to many gallant 
actions ; and hast, likewise, for thy tutor the learned Episte'- 
mon, who by his lively and vocal documents may instruct thee 
in the arts and sciences. 

I intend, and will have it so, that thou learn the languages 
perfectly. First of all, the Greek, as Quintil'ian will have it ; 
secondly, the Latin ; and then the Hebrew, for the Holy Scrip- 
tures' sake. And then the Chaldee and Arabic likewise. And 
that thou frame thy style in Greek, in imitation of Plato ; and 



EDUCATION OF GARGAJSTUA AND PANTAGBUEL 29 

for the Latin, after Cicero. Let there be no history which 
thou shalt not have ready in thy memory ; and to help thee 
therein, the books of cosmography will be very conducible. 
Of the liberal arts of geometry, arithmetic, and music, I gave 
thee some taste when thou wert yet little, and not above five 
or six years old ; proceed further in them and learn the re- 
mainder if thou canst. As for astronomy, study all the rules 
thereof ; let pass, nevertheless, the divining and judicial astrol- 
ogy, and the art of Lullius, as being nothing else but plain 
cheats and vanities. As for the civil law, of that I would have 
thee to know the texts by heart, and then to confer them with 
philosophy. 1 

Now in the matter of the knowledge of the works of nature, 
I would have thee to study that exactly ; so that there be no 
sea, river, or fountain of which thou dost not know the fishes ; 
all the fowls of the air, all the several kinds of shrubs and 
trees, whether in forest or orchard ; all the sorts of herbs and 
flowers that grow upon the ground, and the various metals 
that are hid within the bowels of the earth, together with all 
the diversity of precious stones that are to be seen in the orient 
and south parts of the world. Let nothing of all these be 
hidden from thee. Then fail not most carefully to peruse the 
books of the Greek, Arabian, and Latin physicians, not de- 
spising the Talmudists and Cabalists, and by frequent anat- 
omies get thee the perfect knowledge of the microcosm, which 
is man. And at some hours of the day apply thy mind to the 
study of the Holy Scriptures ; first in Greek, the New Testa- 
ment with the Epistles of the Apostles, and then the Old 
Testament in Hebrew. 

In brief, let me see thee an abyss and bottomless pit of 
knowledge ; for from henceforward, as thou growest great and 



1 The scheme of higher education which Gargantua lays down is not practica- 
ble in our day of specialization of studies. It is no longer possible for any man 
to excel in all branches of science and literature. The field of study and in- 
vestigation has grown too large for this. Only in special lines of post-graduate 
study can the scholarly investigator employ his years to the best advantage. 



30 FRANQOIS RABELAIS 

becomest a man, thou must part from this tranquillity and rest 
of study. Thou must learn chivalry, warfare, and the exercise 
of the field, the better thereby to defend thy house and our 
friends, and to succor and protect them at all their needs 
against the invasions and assaults of evil-doers. 

Furthermore, I will that very shortly thou try how much 
thou hast profited, which thoa canst not better do than by 
maintaining publicly theses and conclusions in all arts, against 
all persons whatsoever, and by haunting the company of learned 
men, both at Paris and otherwhere. But because, as the wise 
man Solomon saith, wisdom entereth not into a malicious mind, 
and that science without conscience is but the ruin of the soul, 
it behoveth thee to serve, to love, to fear God, and on Him to 
cast all thy thoughts and all thy hope ; and, by faith, formed 
in charity, to cleave unto Him, so that thou mayst never be 
separated from Him by thy sins. Suspect the abuses of the 
world ; set not thy heart upon vanity, for this life is transitory, 
but the word of the Lord endureth forever. Be serviceable to 
all thy neighbors, and love them as thyself. Reverence thy 
preceptors ; shun the conversation of those whom thou de- 
sirest not to resemble, and receive not in vain thii^ graces which 
God hath bestowed upon thee. And when thou shalt see that 
thou hast attained to all the knowledge that is to be acquired 
in that part, return unto me, that I may see thee, and give 
thee my blessing before I die. 

My son, the peace and grace of our Lord be with thee. 

A TTIPTI 

■ Thy father, Gakgantua. 
From Utopia,! t,lie 17tli day of the month of March, 

These letters being received and read, Pantagruel plucked 
up his heart, took a fresh courage to him, and was inflamed 

1 Utopia is the name of an imaginary island, the creation of Sir Thomas 
More, a contemporary of Rabelais. In meaning it signifies noichere. The 
word is now used in all modern languages to signify a state or place of ideal 
perfection. 



EDUCATION OF GARGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL 31 

with a desire to profit in his studies more than ever ; so that 
if you had seen him, how he took pains, and how he advanced 
in learning, you would have said that the vivacity of his spirit 
amidst the books was like a great fire amongst dry wood, so 
active, vigorous, and indefatigable it was. 

VI. How Paxtagruel met with a Limosix, who affected 
TO speak in a Learned Phrase 

Upon a certain day, I know not when, Pantagruel, walking 
after supper with some of his fellow-students, without that 
gate of the city through which we enter on the road to Paris, 
encountered with a young, handsome, spruce scholar that was 
coming upon the very same way ; and, after they had saluted 
one another, asked him thus : 

' ' My friend, from whence comest thou now ? ' ' 

The scholar answered him, ''From the alme, inclyte^ and 
celebrate academy which is vocitated Lutetia." 

' ' What is the meaning of this ? ' ' said Pantagruel to one of 
his men. 

''It is," answered he, "from Paris." 

' ' Thou comest from Paris, then, ' ' said Pantagruel ; ' ' and 
how do you spend your time there, you, my masters, the 
students of Paris ? ' ' 

The scholar answered : ^ " We transfretate the Sequan at the 
dilucal and crepuscul ; we deambulate by the eompites and qua- 
drives of the urb ; we despumate the latial verbocination ; and, 
like verisimilarie amorabons, we capiat the benevolence of the 
omnijugal, omniform, and omnigenal feminine sex; then do we 
cauponisate in the meritory taberns of 'The Pineapple,' 'The 
Castle, ' ' The Magdalene, ' and ' The Mule, ' goodly verve- 
cine spatules perforaminated with petrosile ; and if by good f or- 

1 A portion of this macaronic speech has been explained on page 11. The 
student of Latin may find some amusement in deciphering the remainder. 
Tliis caricature of the affected and stilted speech of many learned men in the 
time of Rabelais has had, doubtless, a vast influence in favor of purity and pro- 
priety of speech in many nations. 



32 FBANQOIS RABELAIS 

tune there be rarity or penury of peeune in our marsupies, and 
that they be exhausted of ferruginean metal for the shot, we 
dimit our codices^ and oppignerat our vestiments, whilst we 
prestolate the coming of the tabellaries from the penates^ and 
patriotic lares.'''' 

To which Pantagruel answered, ''What devilish language is 
this? By the Lord, I think thou art some kind of heretic." 

"My Lord, no," said the scholar; "for lihentissimally , as 
soon as it illucesceth any minutle slice of the day, I demigrate 
into one of these so well architected minsters, and there irr orat- 
ing myself with fair lustral water, I mumble off little parcels of 
some missic precation of our sacrificals ; and submurmurating 
my horary precules, I elevate and ahsterg my anime from its 
nocturnal inquinations. I revere the olympicols ; 1 latrially 
venere the supernal astripotent ; 1 dilige and redame my prox- 
ims; I observe the deealogical precepts ; and, according to the 
facultatule of my vires ^ 1 do not discede from them one breath 
of an unguicule. Nevertheless it is veriform that, because 
Mammona doth not snpergurgitate anything in my locides, I am 
somewhat rare and lent to superrogate the elemosynes to those 
egents that ostially queritate their stipe.'' 

"Prut, prut," said Pantagruel, "what doth this fool mean 
to say ? I think he is upon the forging of some diabolical 
tongue, and that, enchanter-like, he would charm us." 

To Avhom one of his men said ; " Without doubt, sir, this 
fellow would counterfeit the language of the Parisians ; but he 
doth only flay the Latin, imagining, by so doing, that he doth 
mightily Pindarize it in most eloquent terms, and strongly con- 
ceiteth himself to be, therefore, a great orator in the French, 
because he disdaineth the common manner of speaking. ' ' 

To which Pantagruel said : " Is it true ? " 

The scholar answered : ' ' My worshipful Lord, my genie is 
not aptnate to that which this flagitious nebulon saith, to excori- 
ate the cuticle of our vernacular Gallic; but vicever sally I gnave 
opere^ and by veles and rames enite to locupletate it with the 
Latinicome redundance. ' ' 



EDUCATION OF GARGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL 33 

''By G — ," said Pantagruel, "I will teach you to speak; 
but first come hitherto and tell me whence thou art." 

To this the scholar answered, "The primeval origin of my 
aves and ataves was indigenary of the Lemovick regions, where 
requiesceth the eorpor of the hagiotat St. Martial." 

'' I understand thee very well," said Pantagruel ; " when all 
comes to all ; thou art a Limosin, and thou wilt here, by thy 
affected speech, counterfeit the Parisians. Well, now, come 
hither ; I must show thee a new trick, and handsomely give 
thee one fling." 

With this he took him by the throat, saying to him : ' ' Thou 
flayest the Latin ; by St. John, I will make thee flay the fox, 
for I will now flay thee alive." 

Then began the poor Limosin to cry : " Haw, gwid master ! 
haw, Laord, my halp, and St. Marshaw ! haw, I am worried ; 
haw, my thropple, the bean of my cragg is bruk ; haw, for 
Guaad's seek, lawt me lean, mawster ; waw, waw, waw. " 

''Now," said Pantagruel, "thou speakest naturally; " and 
so let him go. 

SCH. IN COM. — 3 



ROGER ASCHAM 

THE FATHER OF ENGLISH SCHOOLMASTERS 

No characters of English history are more interesting to the student and 
the teacher than the two Queens whose names are linked with the name of 
the famous schoolmaster, Roger Ascham. Queen Elizabeth and Lady Jane 
Grey were unlike each other in most respects. The one occupied the highest 
pinnacle of human greatness, and displayed marvelous abilities in her long 
and splendid career. The other, who is remembered with sympathy and 
commiseration for her hapless fate, perished in her youth upon an igno- 
minious scaffold, after a repudiated reign of ten days, and thus with small 
regret terminated a life which had known but little joy or sunshine. 

These fair cousins possessed in common a love for study and a persever- 
ance which resulted in their becoming, probably, the two most learned 
women of the world in their day. 

Doubtless it is to his association with these royal ladies that the old 
schoolmaster owes chiefly the long remembrance of his name ; but his fame 
rests upon a more substantial basis than any mere accident of association. 
He was a most prudent officer of state. As Latin Secretary to three succes- 
sive Sovereigns of England (Edward VI., Mary I., and Elizabeth), he pos- 
sessed many confidences in state and personal affairs, which he never 
divulged; and it has been regretted that he did not (like many another 
with his opportunities) leave behind him some diary or memorandum of 
these, for the use of later historians. He was one of the first masters of 
English prose ; and it has been suggested by an eminent critic that the 
history of English literature opens with his name. 

As an educator, he holds a high rank. His method of teaching Latin 
and Greek was essentially the same as the one most popular among progres- 
sive teachers of the languages at the present time — the inductive method, 
which has been revived within recent years, in the United States, chiefly 
through the distinguished labors of Dr. William Rainey Harper and his 
eminent colleagues. 

Roger Ascham was born at Kirby Wiske, Yorkshire, England, in 1515, 
and died December 23, 1568. He was graduated at Cambridge University, 
where he won distinction as a student of the classics. For two years he 
served as preceptor to " the Ladye Elizabeth," winning golden opinions for 

34 



ROGER A sen AM 35 

his merits as an instructor. For nearly three years he resided in Ger- 
many, as confidential Secretary of the English Ambassador to the court of 
Charles V. While there, he wrote a valuable report of the affairs of the 
Empire and the court. In the reign of Mary I. he resigned the office of 
Latin Secretary, which he had held under her half-brother, Edward VI. 

He had written, some years before, a delightful book on archery — then 
a popular recreation. Later, he was also the author of a volume entitled 
The Cockpit, — for in that day cockfighting and bear-baiting were defended 
as warmly as were the bullfights of Spain. Indeed, Queen Elizabeth saw 
no impropriety in appointing her former preceptor to the office of bear- 
keeper; and it was while thus engaged that this eminent scholar wrote his 
book on cockfighting, a cruel sport which is now universally condemned. 
Happily for his later fame, the work is now lost. 

Ascham's most famous work is The Scholemaster, which is still a delight 
of scholars. Like the book on archery (Toxophilus), it was written in 
English, in an easy, natural style. When the Toxophilus was first published, 
in the reign of Henry VIIL, the author apologized to the King for having 
written it in English, and offered to rewrite it in Latin or in Greek. 

" To have wi'itten in another tongue," he said, " had been both more 
profitable for my study, and also more honest (honorable) for my name; 
yet I can think my labor well bestowed if, with a little hindrance of my 
profit and name, may come any furtherance to the pleasure or commodity 
of the gentlemen and yeomen of England." Isaac Disraeli remarks, " It 
was a bold decision in a college professor, who looked for his fame from his 
lectures on Greek, to venture on modeling his native idiom with a purity 
and simplicity to which it was yet strange." 

The success of the first work led to the author's adoption of English as 
the language of his more important book on education. The Scholemaster 
inculcates chiefly a mild and gentle discipline of pupils, and a system of 
inductive teaching of the languages. In both respects it is in general 
harmony with the best educational thought of our time. 

The work is not devoid of narrative, and is charming in its unaffected 
simplicity and sincerity. At the outset, the author relates the circumstances 
which led to its composition. In order that the reader of this volume may 
enjoy a view of the beautiful old English of Elizabeth's day, with its quaint 
spelling,! capitalization, and punctuation, the extracts from The Scholemaster 
are reproduced as originally printed. To the day of his death, Ascham re- 
mained the Latin Secretary and confidential adviser of the Virgin Queen. 

1 It will be noticed that Ascham does not always spell the same words in 
the same way. Fixedness in the forms of words has been a growth. Among 
the most general changes in English spelling since the time of Ascham are the 
dissociation of u and v, the substitution of y for the French ie in the terminations 



36 BOGEB ASCHAM 

ASCHAM AND HIS PUPILS 

(From The Scholemaster) 

AscHAM AT Windsor Castle 

When the great plage was at London, the yeare 1563, the 
Queenes Maiestie Queene ElizahetJi^ lay at hir Castle of Wind- 
sore: where, ypon the 10. day of December, it fortuned that in 
Syr William Cicells chamber, hir Highnesse Principal Secretarie, 
there dined togither these personages, M. Secretarie him selfe, 
Syr William Peter ^ Sjt I. Mason^ D. Wotton, Syr Richard Sachuill 
Treasurer of the Exchecker, Syr Walter Mildmaye Chancellor 
of the Exchecker, M, Saddon^ Master of requestes, M. lohn 
Astley Master of the Jewell house, M. Bernard Hampton^ M. 
Nicasius^ and I. Of which number, the most part were of hir 
Maiesties most honorable priuie Counsell, and the reast seruing 
hir in verie good place. 

I was glad than, and do reioice yet to remember that my 
chance was so happie, to be there that day, in the companie of 
so manie wise and goode men togither, as hardly than could 
haue been piked out againe, out of all England beside. 

M. Secretarie hath this accustomed nianer, though his head 
be neuer so full of most weightie affaires of the Realme, yet, 
at diner time he doth seeme to lay them alwaies aside: and 
findeth euer fitte occasion to taulke pleasantlie of other mat- 
ters, but most gladlie of some matter of learninge : wherein, he 
will courteslie heare the mind of the meanest at his table. 

Not long after our sitting doune I haue strange news brought 
me, sayth M. Secretarie, this morning, that diners Scholers of 
Eaton be runne awaie from the Schole, for fears of beatinge. 
Whereupon, M. Secretarie took occasion, to wish, that some 

of words, and the dropping of useless silent letters. Noah Webster, the Ameri- 
can lexicographer, did much to simplify English spelling, within the present 
century, and his reforms are generally accepted in the United States, and to a 
large extent also in England, 



ASCHAM ANJb HIS PUPILS 37 

discretion were in manie Scholemasters, in using correction 
than commonly there is. Who manie times, punishe rather 
weakenesse of nature, than the fault of the Scholer. Whereby, 
many Scholers, that might else proue well, be driuen to hate 
learninge, before they knowe, what learninge meaneth : and so, 
are made willing to forsake their booke, and be glad to be put 
to any other kinde of lining. 

M. Peter as one somewhat seuere of nature, said plainlie that 
the Rodd onlie, was the sworde that must keepe the Schole in 
obedience, and the Scholer in good order. M. Wotton, a man 
milde of nature, with softe uoice and few wordes, inclined to 
M. Secretaries iudgement, and said, in mine opinion the Schole 
house should be in deede, as it is called by name, the house of 
playe and pleasure, and not of feare and bondage: and as I do 
remember, so saith Socrates in one place of Plato. And there- 
fore if a Rodd carie the feare of a Sworde, it is no maruell, if 
those that be fearful of nature, chose rather to forsake the Plaie 
than to stand alwaies within the feare of a Sworde in a fond 
man's handlinge. M. Mason., after his maner was uerie merie 
with both parties, pleasantlie playing, both with the shrewd 
touches of manie courste boyes, and with the leude Schole- 
masters. 

M. Haddon was fuUie of M. Peters opinion, and said that 
the best Scholemaster of our time, was the greatest beater, and 
named the person. Though quoth I, it was his goode fortune, 
to send from his Schole vnto Vniuersitie, one of the beste 
Scholers in deede of all our time, yet wise men do thinke, that 
that came so true passe, rather, by the great towardnes of the 
Scholer than by the beatinge of the Master: and whether this 
be true or no, you your self are best witnes. I said somewhat 
farder in the matter, how, and whie yong children were soner 
allured by alone, than driuen by beatinge, to atteyne goode 
learninge: wherein I was the bolder to say my minde bicause 
M. Secretarie curtesie prouoked me thereunto : or else, in such 
a companie, and namelie in his praesence, my wonte is, to be 
more willinge, to vse mine eares, than to occupie my tonge. 



38 BOGER ASCHAM 

Syr Walter Mildmaye^ M. Astley^ and the rest, said uerie 
little : onlie Syr Rich. Saekuill, said nothing at all. After 
dinner I vp to reade with the Queenes Maiestie. We red than 
togither in the Greke tonge, as I well remember that noble 
Oration of Demosthenes against Aeschines, for his false deal- 
inge in his Ambassage to King Philip of Macedonie. Syr 
Hich. Sackuill came up sone after : and finding me in hir 
Maiesties priuie chamber, he tooke me by the hand, and carry- 
ing me to a windoe saide M. Ascham, I would not for a deale of 
monie haue bene, this dale, absent from diner. Where, though 
I said nothinge, yet I gaue as good eare, and do consider as 
well tauke, the past, as anie one did there. M. Secretarie said 
uerie wiselie and most truely, that younge wittes be driven to 
hate learninge before they know what learninge is. I can be 
good witnes to this my selfe : For a fond Scholemaster before I 
was fullie fourtene yeare olde, draue me so, with feare of beat- 
inge, from loue of learninge, as now, when I know, what dif- 
ference it is to haue learninge, and to haue litle, or none at 
all, I feele it my greatest griefe, and finde it my greatest hurte 
that euer came to me, that it was my so ill chance, to light 
upon so lewde a Scholemaster. But seing it is but in yain, to 
lament things paste, and also is wisdome to looke to things to 
cum, surely, God willinge, if God lend me life, I will make 
this my mishap some occasion of goode hap to little Robert 
Sackuill my sonne. For whose bringinge vp, I would glad- 
lie, if it so please you, vse speciallie your good aduice. I 
heare sale, you haue sonne, moch of his age : we wil deal 
thus togither. 

Point you out a Scholemaster, who by your order, shall teache 
my sonne and yours, and for all the reste I will prouide, yea, 
though they three do coste me a couple of hundred poundes 
by yeare : and beside, you shall finde me as fast a Frend to 
you and yours, as per chance any you haue. Which promise 
the worthie lentleman surelie kept with me vntil his dying 
daye. 



ASCUAM AND HIS PUPILS 39 



ASCHAM AND LaDY JaNE GrEY 

And one example, whether lone or feare doth worke more in 
a child, for uertue and learninge, I will gladlie report : which 
maie be hard with some pleasure, and foloAved with more profit. 
Before I went into G-ermanie^ I came to Brodegate^ in Lecester- 
shire, to take my leaue of that noble Ladie lane Grrey^ to 
whom I was excedingly moch beholdinge. Hir parents, the 
Duke and Duches, with all the household Gentlemen and 
Gentlewomen, were huntinge in the Parke. I founde hir, in 
hir chamber, readinge Phcedon Platonis'^ in Greeke, and that 
with as moch delite, as som lentlemen wold read a merrie tale 
in Bocase.^ After salutation, and dewtie done with some other 
taulke, I asked her, whie wold leese soch pastime in the 
Parke ? 

Smiling she answered me : I wisse all their sporte in the 
Parke is but a shadoe to that pleasure, that I find in Plato : 
Alas, goode folke, they neuer felt what trewe pleasure ment. 

And howe came you Madame, quoth I deepe knowledge of 
pleasure, and what did chieflie allure you vnto it : seinge, not 
many women, but uerie fewe, haue atteined thereunto. 

I will tell you, quoth she, and tell you a troth, which per- 
chance ye maruel at. One of the greatest benefites, that euer 
God gaue me, is, that he sent me so sharpe and seuere Parents, 
and so ientle a Scholemaster. For when I am in presence either 
of father or mother, whether I speake, kepe silence, sit, stand, 
or go, eat, drinke, be merie, or sad, be sowing, plaiyng, daunc- 
ing, or doing anie thing else, I must do it, as it were, in scch 
weight, mesure, and number, euen so perfitelie, as God made 
the world, or else I am so sharplie taunted, so cruellie threat- 
ened, yea presentlie some tymes, with pinches, nippes, and 
bobbes, and other waies, which I will not name, for the lionor 
I beare them, so without measure misordered, that I think 



1 Plato's Phcedo. 

2 Boccaccio (bo-caht'-cho), author of the Decameron. 



40 BOGER ASCHAM 

my selfe in hell, till tyme cum, that I must go to M. Elmer ^ 
who teacheth me so ientlie, so pleasantlie, with soch allure- 
ments to learning that I thinke all the tyme nothing whiles 
I am with him. And when I am called from him I fall on 
weeping, because, what so euer I do els, but learning, is ful of 
grief, trouble, feare, and whole misliking vnto me : And thus 
my booke, hath bene so moch my pleasure, and bringeth dayly 
to me more pleasure and more, that in respect of it all other 
pleasures, in uery deede, be but trifles and troubles vnto me. 

I remember this talke gladly, both by cause it is so worthy 
of memorie, and by cause also, it was the last talke that ever 
I had and the last tyme, that euer I saw that noble and 
worthie Ladie.^ 

AsCHAM AND JOHN WhITNEY 

I had once a profe hereof tried by good experience, by a 
deare frende of myne, when I came first from Cambrige, to 
serue the Queenes Maiestie. Than Ladie Elizabeth^ lying 
at worthie Syr Ant. Denys in Cheston. lohn Whitneye, a yong 
ientleman, was my bed feloe, who willyng by good nature 
and prouoked by mine aduice, began to learne the Latin tong, 
after the order declared in this book. 

We began after Christmas : I read vnto him Tullie ^ de Amicitia 
which he did euerie day twise translate, out of Latin into Eng- 
lish, and out of English into Latin againe. About S. Laurence 
tyde after, to proue how he profited I did chose out Torquatus 
tank de Amicitia^ in the later end of the first booke de Finih. 
Because that place was, the same in matter, like in words and 
phrases, nigh to the forme and facion of sentences, as he had 
learned before in de Amicitia. I did translate it my selfe into 
plaine English, and gaue to him to turne into Latin. 

^ Boger Ascham and Lady Jane Grey is the title of an "imaginary dia- 
logue" by the British poet Walter Savage Landor, and is one of the best of 
his writings in this novel form of fiction. The subject of the dialogue is the 
approaching marriage of Lady Jane. 
* 2 Cicero. 



ASCBAM AND HIS PUPILS 41 

Which he did, so choislie, so orderlie, so without any great 
inisse in the hardest pointes of Grammer that some, in seuen 
yeare Grammer Scholes, yea, and some in the Vniuersities to, 
can not do halfe so well.^ This worthie yong lentleman, to my 
greatest grief, to the great lamentation of the whole house, 
and specialie to that most noble Ladie, now Queene Elizabeth 
hir self, departed within few dayes out of this world. 

And if in any cause a man may without offence of God speak 
somewhat yngodlie, surely, it was some grief ATito me, to see 
him high so hastlie to God, as he did. A Corte, full of soch 
yong lentlemen, were rather a Paradise than a Corte vpon 
earth. And though I had neuer Poetical head to make uerse 
in any tong, yet either loue, or sorow, or both, did wring out 
of me than, certaine caref uU thoughtes of my good will towardes 
him, which in my morning for him, fell forth, more by chance, 
than either by skill or vse, into this kinde of misorderlie meter. 

Myne owne lohn Whitneye, now farewell, 

No death doth parte vs twaine, 
No death but partying for a while, 

Whom life shall loyne agayne. 
Therefore my hart cease sighes and sobbes, 

Cease sorows seede to sowe, 
Whereof no gaine, but greater grief. 

And hurtfull care may grow 
Yet when I thinke vpon soch gifts 

Of grace as God him lent, 
My losse, his gaine, I must a while 

With ioyful tears lament. 
****** 
Myne owne lohn Whitneye agayne fairewell, 

A while thus parte in twaine, 
Whom payne doth parte in earth, in heauen 

Great ioy shall ioin agayne. 

1 The rapidity with which the ancient languages are learned by the inductive 
method in the hands of skillful teachers is surprising. Professor Isaac B. Bur- 
gess, associate editor (with Dr. William Rainey Harper) of the Commentaries of 
Caesar, is the author of a valuable essay on The Matter and Method of the First 
Yearns Latin Study, in which the inductive method is explained and applied. 



42 BOGER ASCHAM 



ASCHAM AND QuEEN ELIZABETH 



And a beter nearer example herein male be our most noble 
Queene Elizabeth^ who never tooke yet Greeke nor Latin Gram- 
mer in hir hande after the first of a noun and uerb: But onlie 
by this double translatynge of Demosthenes and Isocrates Daylie 
without missing euery fore noon, and like wise som parte of 
Tully euerie afternoone, for the space of a yeare or two, hath 
attayned to soch perfite ynderstandynge in bothe the tonges, 
and to soch a redie ytterance of the Latin, and that withe soch 
iudgmente, as there be fewe now in both vniuersities or else- 
where in England that be in both tonges comparable with hir 
Maiestie. 

******** 

It is youre shame (I speak to you all you yong lentlemen of 
England) that one maid should go before you all in excellencie 
of learnyng, and knowledge and diuers tonges. Pointe forth 
six of the best giuen lentlemen of this Courte, and all they 
together shew not so much goode will, spend not so much 
tyme, bestow not so many houres daylie, orderlie, and con- 
stantlie, for the increase of learning and knowledge, as doth 
the Queenes maiestie, hir selfe. Yea I belieue, that beside her 
perfit readines, in Latin, Italian, French, and Spanish she 
readeth here now in Windsore more Greeke euery dale than 
som Prebendarie of this Chirch doth read Latin in a whole 
weeke. 

And that which is most praise worthie of all, within in the 
walles of hir priuie chamber, she hath obteyned that excellency 
of learnyng, to vnderstand, speak, and write both wittely with 
hir head and faire with hir hand, as scarce one or two rare 
Avittes in both the vniuersities haue in many yeares reached 
vnto. 



II 

SHAKSPEARB 

FENELON 

SWIFT 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 

It is a singular fact that we know far less of the man Shakspeare, the 
greatest of all writers, than we know of thousands of inferior authors. 
Though he lived but three centuries ago, his life is more obscure than the 
lives of some writers who lived before the time of Christ, and w^hose works 
are lost or forgotten. Yet Shakspeare was born and lived in " the heart of 
England," and in a period of his country's greatest glory. 

Diligent research of the most penetrating character within recent years 
has brought to light references and records of his contemporaries which give 
some clue to his private life, so that he seems less like a mythical character 
than formerly ; yet there is much controversy, even as to these. 

That the greatest literary genius of the world, living in such an age, 
should be involved in such obscmity, is explained by the singular vicissi- 
tudes of his writing. The value of his plays was not appreciated or under- 
stood for more than a century after his death ; and when the cultivation of 
the public taste led the people of the English-speaking world to understand 
his worth, the contemporaries of the great poet had all passed away, and 
little remained in the folk-lore of their descendants to fill out the picture of 
his life. 

After Shakspeare's time came the civil war between King and Parliament, 
when books were little read. Then came the rule of the Puritans, who con- 
sidered the drama essentially bad and sinful in all its forms. 

Then, in the reaction from the grim austerity of the Puritans, the mon- 
archy was restored ; and the exiled Prince, who had gathered every vice in 
his wanderings, brought wath him to the court and to society a contempt 
for all that was good in literature. The taste of the people was debauched, 
and the " Corrupt Drama " thrust aside the works of real merit. In the 
days of Queen Anne the people were taught to read and understand, to 
admire and love, the wonderful legacy of Shakspeare's works. But it was 
then too late to know the man himself, apart from his writings. 

William Shakspeare was born in the village of Stratford-on-Avon, in 
1564. His father was a prosperous farmer, glove-maker, and petty officer, 
who could neither read nor wi'ite. Somewhere and sometime Shakspeare 
went to school, and acquired a smattering of Latin and Greek. He married 
at nineteen, and lived in London some years later. After an indefinite 

45 



46 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 

period of life in the city, he returned to Stratford, where he died in 1616, 
and was buried in the parish church. 

While in London he was connected with various theaters, in different 
ways. He was an actor, a copyist and editor of old plays, an author of 
plays. The amount of literary labor which he performed in a lifetime of 
fifty-two years is prodigious. His genius is amazing. He entered into the 
feeling of every man whose biography he read. He entered into the spirit 
of every age described in the histories that fell into his hands. His mind 
was universal in its adaptation. He seemed to have lived in every historical 
period, and in every clime. He wrote tragedies, comedies, historical plays, 
sonnets, and descriptive poems. 

He lacked the accurate training of the scholar. Sometimes he makes 
slips that are amusing to the college student. For instance, in his drama 
of Julius CcBsar the time of day is told by the clock, though there were no 
clocks in Csesar's time. Again, in the Troilus and Cressida one of the 
characters quotes Aristotle, the Greek philosopher, though Aristotle did not 
live until centuries after the conflict portrayed. Such mistakes could not 
have been made by a scholar like Lord Bacon, but were natural in a man 
whose education was principally self-acquired. 

It is difficult to summarize in a few paragraphs even the leading merits 
of Shakspeare's plays. 

In the first place, there is his universality. Ophelia, in Hamlet, is a true 
northern maid; the heroine of Romeo and Juliet, a true daughter of the 
South. Csesar and Coriolanus, Brutus, and Mark Antony are true Romans ; 
Othello is a true Moor. 

Then we find in Shakspeare's characters complete and many-sided indi- 
viduals, — not personages invented to represent, respectively, single traits of 
character, such as avarice, ambition, treachery, etc. Shylock is a miser, but 
he is more than a miser; Coriolanus is a traitor, but he is more than a 
mere traitor. And so with the leading characters of all the dramas. 

Again, Shakspeare never repeats his characters, as do writers of a nar- 
rower range. No two are alike. From -the infinite variety of human life 
he has gathered a multitude of distinct and individual personages, differing 
in identity as in name. 

In the selections from Ascham, the reader has been led to observe the 
changes which three centuries have wrought in English orthography. In 
almost any extended paragraph from Shakspeare may be seen the changes 
which have come to the meanings and use of English words ; for, though 
the pages of Shakspeare now appear in modern dress, the language he 
employs varies widely from modern usage. John Peile,i the English phi- 

1 Those who are interested in language study are recommended to read Peile's 
Primer of Philology. 



yVILLIAM SHAKSPEABE 47 

lologist, illustrates this by an analysis of the following paragraph, selected 
at random : — 

" His two chamberlains 

Will I with wine and wassail so convince 

That memory, the warder of the brain, 

Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 

A limbec only." 

The word chamberlain, which now signifies a censor of plays, meant for- 
merly a bedroom attendant, or guard. Wassail, which has disappeared 
from common use, originally signified he in health, and was an ancient 
expression of good wishes on occasions of festivity. Convince, which now 
means persuade, originally signified overpower. Warder, which has dropped 
out of common use, formerly denoted a military guard. Fume is used in 
the metaphorical sense in which the word mist is sometimes used at the 
present day. Receipt was formerly used to denote a receptacle ; and limbec, 
now obsolete, was equivalent to alembic, which now means a still, or retort, 
and was used by Shakspeare to denote simply an empty vessel. 

Shakspeare's plays have been edited successively by Rowe, Theobald, 
Pope, Warburton, Hanmer, Johnson, Malone, Steevens, Capell, Singer, Col- 
lier, Knight, Halliwell, Dyce, Stanton, and other English critics; and by 
Hudson, Grant White, and Furness, in America. 

The Shakspearean criticism of Lessing, Goethe, Schiller, Schlegel, Tieck, 
Delius, Ulrichi, Gervinus, Kreyssig, Hertzberg, Schmidt, Ruemelin, Benedix, 
and other German editors, is remarkable in its quantity and quality. To 
Germans, Shakspeare seems a very German. It is their amusing boast that 
their edition of his works is better than the best which we possess. Shaks- 
peare belongs, in fact, almost equally to the great Teutonic peoples. 

In all the multitude of Shakspeare's characters there are but two school- 
masters. One of these is also a physician, and fills a subordinate place in 
the Comedy of Errors, a drama based upon an ancient Latin play by Plautus. 
The other is Holofernes,^ who is one of the characters in Shakspeare's sole 
educational drama. Love's Labor's Lost. Many have supposed that this is a 
caricature of an individual, — one John Florio, — but this* seems wholly 
improbable. The play in which the schoolmaster appears is of interest to 
teachers for various reasons. It exhibits and satirizes the pedantry, puerility, 
affectation, and conceit of teachers and others in the Elizabethan period.^ It 



1 It will be remembered that the same hateful name was given by Rabelais 
to a schoolmaster in Gargantua. 

2 '■'■ Euphuism — from the prose romance of Euphues, in which Lyly (lil'y) 
originated it — is best known to modern readers by the pitiless caricature with 
which Shakspeare quizzed its pedantry, its affectation, the meaningless monot- 
ony of its far-fetched phrase, the absurdity of its extravagant conceits. Its 



48 WILLIAM SHAKSPEAEE 

illustrates the casuistry of literalists ; the capabilities of students for good 
or evil; the analysis of their characters; the lugubriousness of educational 
pessimists; false reasoning in inductive learning; inconsistency in the use 
of language ; above all, the absurdity of monastic and unnatural restraints 
in an academy. 

Love's Labor's Lost is a dramatic plea on behalf of nature and of common 
sense against all that is unreal and affected. It maintains in a gay and 
witty fashion the superiority of life, as a means of education, over books ; 
the superiority of the large world into which we are born over any little 
world we can construct for ourselves, and into which we may hedge our- 
selves by rule ; and, while maintaining this, it also asserts that we must not 
educate ourselves only by what is mii'thful and pleasant in the world, but 
must recognize its sorrow ; and that we cannot be right glad without being 
brave and earnest. — Edward Dowden. 



KING FEEDINAJSTD'S ACADEMY,^ A:N'D WHY IT FAILED 

The Story of Love's Labor's Lost 

The King of Navarre ^ and three of his Lords — one of whom, 
Berowne, sees through the seeming splendor of the King's design 
to its real folly — resolve to turn their court into a ''little 
Academe," to seclude themselves from all that is common and 
unideal, to devote themselves for three years to study, fasting 
much, sleeping little, and forswearing the company of ladies ; 



representative Armado, in Xoue's Labor'' s Lost, is ' a man of fire-new words, 
fashion's own knight.' But its very extravagance sprang from the general 
burst of deliglit in the new resources of thought and language which literature 
felt to be at its disposal. For a time eupliuism had all its own way. Ehzabeth 
was the most affected and detestable of euphuists." — J. E. Greene. 

1 Academy, or academe, is here used in its earlier sense, and means an asso- 
ciation of scholars, rather than a scliool. The word is derived from the Acade- 
mia, or Grove of Academus, in the vicinity of ancient Athens, where the learned 
were accustomed to assemble. There are in Europe a number of celebrated 
academies, composed of men distinguished in literature and the fine arts. 

2 Navarre, or Xavarra, now a province in the north of Spain, was formerly 
an independent kingdom. In the time of Shakspeare, King Henry of Navarre 
(who became King of France) was the hope of the Huguenots (French Prot- 
estants). 



KING FERDINAND'S ACADEMY 49 

in a word, they aspire to establish a little monastery of culture. 
The scheme, which looked so graceful while it went no farther 
than words, breaks down lamentably when they would make it 
real. 

The King^ is obliged, by reasons of state, to receive the 
Princess of France and her three ladies ; the vowed scholars — 
all of them — fall over head and ears in love, and an amusing 
scene of discovery and confession takes place, in which each 
in turn betrays his secret, and is convicted before his equally 
guilty fellows, until at last Berowne — who unites good sense 
with genius — comes forward to charge with error their original 
vows of seclusion, and to justify their present apostasy. There 
is much merry mocking of the lovers by the French girls, and 
in bright play with the weapons of words Rosaline is a match 
for Berowne. 

When the mirth is at its highest come tidings that the 
father of the Princess is dead. The comedy will not end with 
weddings ; love's labor is lost. The King is dismissed to a 
twelvemonth's absence and testing of his love ; and Berowne, 
the mocker, in the same interval before marriage, must make 
his jests, if he can, for sick folk in an hospital, and so learn the 
graver side of life. 

Thus, with its apparent lightness, there is a serious spirit 
underlying the play, but the surface is all jest, and stir, and 
sparkle. It is a comedy of dialogue rather than of incident, 
and in the persons of Don Adriano de Armado, a fantastical 
Spaniard, of Sir Nathaniel, the curate, and of Holofernes, 
the schoolmaster, are caricatured various Elizabethan ab- 
surdities of speech, pseudo-refinement, and pseudo-learning. 
The braggart soldier and the pedant are characters well known 
in Italian comedy, and perhaps it was from that quarter that 
the hint came to Shakspeare, which stirred his imagination to 
create these ridiculous figures. — EdwXrd Dowden. 

1 It will not do to inquire too closely as to the particular King of Navarre who 
is here represented. The King Ferdinand of the play is, doubtless, a suppositi- 
tious character. 

SCH. IN COM. — 4 



50 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 

Bright Thoughts From the Drama 

THE king's plan FOR AN " ACADEME " 

King. Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ; 
Our Court shall be a little Academe, 
Still and contemplative in living art. 

HIS FELLOW-SCHOLARS 

King. You three, Biron,i Dumain, and Longaville, 
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me. 
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes 
That are recorded in this schedule here. 

SOME OF THE RULES PRESCRIBED 

Biron. To live and study here three years. 

Not to see a woman in that term : 



And one day in a week to touch no food ; 
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, 
And not to be seen to wink of all the day. 

THE king's LOFTY PURPOSE 

King. Spite of cormorant, devouring Time, 

The endeavor of this present breath may buy 
That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, 
And make us heirs of all eternity. 

A SHARP-TONGUED STUDENT LONGAVILLE 

Maria (a lady in waiting to the Princess of France). A 
man of sovereign parts he is esteemed; 
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms. 
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. 

1 Biron is pronounced be-rone'. It is spelt Berowne' by Dowden and by- 
some others. 



KING FERDINAND'S ACADEMY 61 

The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss 
(If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil) 
Is a sharp wit, matched with too blunt a will; 
Whose edge hath power to cut whose will still wills. 
It should none spare that come within his power. 

A DANGEROUS STUDENT — DUMAIN 

Katharine {a lady in waiting to the Princess^. A well ac- 
complished youth, 
Of all that virtue love, for virtue loved ; 
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ; 
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, 
And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 
I saw him at the Duke Alengon's (a-lon'-sons), once; 
And much too little of that good I saw. 
Is my report, to his great worthiness. 

A MERRY STUDENT BIRON 

Rosaline (a lady in waiting to the Princess), A merrier 
man. 
Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
I never spent an hour's talk withal. 
His eye begets occasion for his wit, 
For every object that the one doth catch, 
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest, 
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor) 
Delivers in such apt and gracious words, 
That aged ears play truant at his tales. 
And younger hearings are quite ravished ; 
So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 

dumain's idea of education 

Dumain. Dumain is mortified ; 

The grosser manner of these world's delights 



52 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 

He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves; 
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die, 
With all these living in philosophy. 

longaville's idea 

Longaville. I am resolved; 'tis but a three years' fast; 
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine. 
Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits 
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. 

biron's protest against the rules 

Biron. O these are barren tasks, too hard to keep; 
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. 
Let me say no, my Liege, an if you please; 
I only swore to study with your Grace, 
And stay here in your court for three years' space. 

the object of study 

Biron. What is the end of study ? Let me know.^ 
King. Why, that to know which else we should not know. 
Biron. Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense ? 
King. Ay, that is study's godlike recompense. 



Biron. Come on, then; I will swear to study so, 
To know the thing I am forbid to know; 
As thus — to study where I well may dine. 
When I to feast expressly am forbid; 
Or, study where to meet some mistress fine. 
When mistresses from common sense are hid; 
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, 

1 This question is one of great importance in the educational world. 



KING FERDINAND'S ACADEMY 58 

Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
If study's gain be thus, and this be so, 
Study knows that which yet it doth not know: 
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. 

THE KING DISSENTS 

King. These be the stops that hinder study, quite, 
And train our intellects to vain delight. 

PESSIMISTIC VIEWS OF STUDY 

Biron. Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain 
Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain; 
As, painfully to pore upon a book. 
To seek the light of truth, while truth, the while, 
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look. 
Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile; 
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies. 
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun. 
That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks. 
Small have continual plodders ever won. 
Save base authority from others' books. 
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, 
That give a name to every fix^d star. 
Have no more profit of their shining nights 
Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. 
Too much to know is to know naught but fame. 
And every godfather can give a name. 
So you, to study, now, it is too late, 
Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. 
So study evermore is overshot ; 
While it doth study to have what it would. 
It doth forget to do the thing it should; 
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
'Tis won, as towns with fire; so won, so lost. 



54 WILLIAM SHAKSPEABE 



ARMADO S ACCOMPLISHMENTS 

Biron. But is there no quick recreation granted ? 

King. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted 
With a refined traveler of Spain; 
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain; 
One whom the music of his own vain tongue 
Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony; 
A man of complements, whom right and wrong 
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny; 
This child of fancy, that Armado hight [is called] , 
For interim to our studies, shall relate. 
In highborn words, the worth of many a knight 
From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. ^ 

HOW ARMADO ENTERTAINED 

King. How you delight, my Lords, I know not, I; 
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie, 
And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 

Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 



Armado. I have promised to study three years with the Duke. 
Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. 

WHAT A GENTLEMAN IS PERMITTED TO KNOW 

Moth. How many is one thrice told ? 

Armado. I am ill at reckoning; it fitteth the spirit of a 
tapster. 

Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. 

1 This characterization of the Spanish kingdom is an illustration of the Eng- 
lish contempt for Spain in the time of Elizabeth. Spain was "lost" in the 
"debate" of arms. The Spanish have continued to lose in influence in 
European affairs. 



KING FERDINAND'S ACADEMY 65 

Armado. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a 
complete man. 

Moth. Then I am sure you know how much the gross sum 
of deuce-ace amounts to. 

Armado, It doth amount to one more than two. 

Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three. 

Armado. True. 

HOW MOTH WOULD STUDY "THREE YEARS " 

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study ? Now here 
is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to 
put years to the word three^ and study three years in two 
words, the dancing horse will tell you. 

Armado. A most fine figure! 

ARMADO LEARNS HISTORY 

Armado. Comfort me, boy. What great men have been in 
love ? 

Moth. Hercules, Master. 

Armado. Most sweet Hercules ! More authority, dear 
boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let them be men of 
good repute and carriage. 

Moth. Samson, Master ; he was a man of good carriage, 
great carriage ; for he carried the town gates on his back, like 
a porter ; and he was in love.^ 

A MODEST PRINCESS 

Princess, But pardon me, I am too sudden bold ; 
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 

BREVITY IS THE SOUL OF WIT 

Maria. The last is Biron, the merry madcap Lord ; 
Not a word with him but a jest. 

Boyet. And every jest but a word. 

1 The story of Samson's carrying away the city gates is related in The 
Book of Judges, chapter xvi. 



56 WILLIAM SHAKSPEAUE 



Armado. The way is but short ; away. 

Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 

Armado. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ? 
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? ^ 

Moth. Minime, honest Master ; or rather, Master, no. 

Armado. I say, lead is slow. 

Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so. 
Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun ? 

Armado. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! 

^^l'envot" out of place 

Moth. A wonder. Master ; here's a Costard broken in a 
shin. 

Armado. Some enigma, some riddle ! Come, — thy V envoy ^ ; 
begin. 

Costard. No egma, no riddle, no V envoy ; no salve in them 
all, sir : O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ; ^ no V envoy., no 
T envoy., no salve, sir, but a plantain I 

Armado. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter ; thy silly 
thought, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs provokes me 
to ridiculous smiling. O pardon me, 'my stars! Doth the 
inconsiderate take salve for V envoy., and the word V envoy for 
a salve ? 

Moth. Do the wise think them other ? is not V envoy a salve ? 

Armado. No, Page ; it is an epilogue, or discourse, to make 
plain 
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.* 

1 Lead is commonly used as a simile to express heaviness, slowness, or dull- 
ness. Pope makes use of it in the latter sense in The Dunciad. 

2 U Envoy (pronounced long-vwah) signifies a detached verse or verses at the 
end of a poem or story, to state the moral, or, sometimes, to address the com- 
position to some particular person. 

3 Costard, the clown, being lame from a bruise, desired some plantain leaves, 
which were considered a remedy in such cases. 

4 Said. 



KING FEBDINAND'S ACADEMY 57 



ARMADO ILLUSTRATES THE MEANING OF 

Armado. I will example it : 

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee 
Were still at odds, being but three. 
There's the moral. Now the V envoy. 

Moth. I will add the V envoy ; say the moral again. 
Armado. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee 

Were still at odds, being but three — 
Moth. Until the goose came out of door. 
And stayed the odds by adding four. 
Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my V envoy. 
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee 
Were still at odds, being but three — 
Armado. Until the goose came out of door, 
Staying the odds by adding four. 

******** 

Costard. Let me see — A fat V envoy ; ay, that's a fat 
goose. 

COSTARD ACQUIRES A NEW WORD 

Armado {paying Costard for a service). There is remunera- 
tion; for the best word of mine honor is, rewarding my depen- 
dants. Moth, follow. (Uxit.) 

Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu. 

Costard. My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! My incony 
Jew ! (Uxit Moth.) 

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration ! O 
that's the Latin word for three farthings. Three farthings — 
remuneration. What's the price of this inkle ? ^ A penny. 
No, I'll give you a remuneration. Why, it carries it. Remu- 
neration ! Why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I 
will never buy and sell out of this word. 

1 An inkle was a sort of broad tape, made of linen, and in common use. 



5S WILLIAM SHAKSPEABE 

COSTARD MAKES USE OF HIS NEW WORD ^ 

Biron. O, my good knave Costard, exceedingly well met ! 
Costard. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a 
man buy for a remuneration ? 

Biron, What is a remuneration ? 

Costard, Marry, sir, half -penny farthing. 

Biron. O, why, then, three farthings' worth of silk. 

Costard, I thank your worship. God be with you. 

COSTARD ACQUIRES ANOTHER NEW WORD 

Biron (^paying Costard for a service). There's thy guer- 
don; go. 

Costard. Garden — O sweet garden! Better than re- 
muneration — eleven pence farthing better. Most sweet garden ! 
I will do it, sir, in print. Garden — remuneration. 

CREDIT ALIKE FOR HITTING OR MISSING 

Princess, Thus will I save my credit in the shoot. 
Net wounding, pity would not let me do't ; 
If wounding, then it was to shew my skill. 
That, mere for praise than purpose, meant to kill. 

A HINT ON THE PRONUNCIATION OF " SUITOR " ^ 

Boyet (ho-ya^ — a French Lord attending the Princess) , Who 
is the suitor ? Who is the suiter ? 

Rosaline. Shall I teach you to know ? 

1 In this and other examples, Costard acquires new words inductively, — by 
hearing them used. That he makes mistakes is no valid argument against 
inductive teaching. The meanings of most words are acquired in this way. 
Only to a small extent is the meaning of language learned from dictionaries. 
The teacher should carefully guard the pupil against mistaking the meanings of 
words. 

^ The letter r has been called a " plague of all nations." The letter u is 
scarcely less perplexing. The descriptions of the various sounds of this vowel, 
as found in the larger dictionaries, should be carefully read by all teachers. 



KING FEEBINAND'S ACADEMY 59 

Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 

Rosaline. Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off ! 

THE CONSTABLE ACQUIRES A NEW EXPRESSION 

Sir Nathaniel (the Curate}. I assure ye it was a buck of the 
first head. 

Holof ernes (the Schoolmaster}. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo 
[I don't believe it] . 

Bull (the Constable}. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a 
pricket. 1 

THE constable's IGNORANCE 

Holof ernes. Twice sod simplicity, his coctus ! [twice sod- 
den]. O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou 
look! 

Sir Nathaniel. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that 
are bred in a book ; he hath not eat ^ paper, as it were ; he 
hath not drunk ink ; his intellect is not replenished ; he is 
only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. 

A MAN OF taste AND FEELING 

Sir Nathaniel. And such barren plants are set before us 

that we thankful should be 
(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts that do 

fructify in us more than he. 
For, as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a 

fool. 
So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school. 



Bull. You two are book men. Can you tell by your wit 
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks 
old as yet ? 

1 A buck at the age of two years. '^ Past tense, pronounced et. 



60 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 

Rolofernes, Dictynna, good man Dull. Dictynna, good 
man Dull. 

Dull. What is Dictynna ? 

Sir Nathaniel. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 

THE schoolmaster's PEDANTIC TRIFLING 

Holofernes. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal 
epitaph on the death of the deer ? And, to humor the ignorant, 
I have called the deer the Princess killed a pricket. 
The preyful Princess pierced and pricked a pretty, pleasing 

pricket. 
Some say a sore, but not a sore, till now made sore with shoot- 
ing. 
The dogs did yell ; put I to sore^ then sorel jumps from thicket ; 
Or pricket sore, or else sorel ; the people fall a hooting. 
If sore be sore, then I to sore 
Makes fifty sores, O soreL ! 
Of one sore I an hundred make 
By adding but one more I. 

Sir Nathaniel. A rare talent! 

PRAISE FOR THE SCHOOLMASTER 

Sir Nathaniel. Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may 
my parishioners ; for their sons are well tutored by you, and 
their daughters profit very greatly under you. 

THE schoolmaster's PUN ON NASO ^ 

Holofernes. Ovidius Naso was the man. And why, indeed, 
Naso, but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the 
jerks of invention? 



1 The name of Ovid, the Latin poet. In Latin, the word naso means from 
the nose. 



KING FEBDINANB'S ACADEMY 61 



Holof ernes. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer 
than the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phan- 
tasms, such insociable and point-devise companions; such 
rackers of orthography, as to speak dout., fine, when he should 
say doubt; det, when he should pronounce debt — d, e, 5, f, not 
tf, e, t ; he clepeth a calf, caiif; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur 
[is called] nebour ; neigh, abbreviated ne. This is ab-hominable 
(which he would call abominable). It insinuateth me of in- 
sanie — JVe intelligis^ Bomine f [Don't you understand, sir ?] — 
to make frantic lunatic. 



HOW THE PAGE WAS IMPRESSED 

Sir Nathaniel. Videsne quis venit? [Don't you see who is 

coming ?] 

Holof ernes. Video., et gaudeo. [I see, and I am glad.] 
Moth. They have been at a great feast of languages and 

stolen the scraps! (to Costard^ aside}. 



AN OLD MACARONIC WORD 

Costard. O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of 
words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word ; 
for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudini- 
tatibus;'^ thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. 



1 Many are ignorant of the fact that the silent letters were formerly sounded 
in such English words as doubt, debt, etc. Abhominable was an old mis- 
spelling for abominable, on the supposition that the word was derived from ab 
homine, from or repugnant to man ; it is really derived from abominari, to 
deprecate, from ab + omen. The schoolmaster's ultra-conservatism led him 
to cling to the old usage as to the forms and sounds of words. 

2 This was formerly described as the longest word in the English language. It 
is not retained in modern dictionaries, and is, in fact, meaningless. It occurs 
in an extended form as a vocal exercise in Smart's Gymnastics. 



62 WILLIAM SHAKSPEAEE 



HOW BIRON KEPT (?) THE RULES OE THE ACADEMY CONCERNING 

LADIES 

Biron (soliloquizing'). By the Lord, this love is as mad as 
Ajax. It kills sheep. It kills me — I a sheep. Well proved 
again on my side. I will not love ; if I do, hang me. I' faith, 
I will not. O, but her eye — By this light ! But for her 
eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I 
do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. [ Climbs 
a tree and conceals himself. Enter King^ with a paper.'] 

HOW THE KING KEPT (?) THE RULES 

King (reads). So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose. 
As thy eye beams, when their fresh rays have smote 
The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows ; 
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 
Through the transparent bosom of the deep. 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light. 
Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep. 
O Queen of Queens, how far dost thou excel! 
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. 
How shall she know my griefs ? \_Steps aside and conceals 
himself. Enter Longaville., with a paper. ] 

HOW LONGAVILLE KEPT (?) THE RULES 

Longaville (reads). Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine 
eye 
('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument) 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove. 
Thou being a goddess^ I forswore not thee. 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me. 



KING FERDINAND'S ACADEMY 63 

Vows are but breath, and breath a vapor is ; 
Then, thou, fair sun, which on my earth doth shine, 
Exhalest this vapor-vow ; in thee it is ; 
If broken, then it is no fault of mine ; 
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
To lose an oath to win a paradise ? 

By whom shall I send this ? [^Steps aside and conceals himself. 
Enter Dumain^ with a paper. '\ 

MISERY LOVES COMPANY 

King (aside). In love, I hope. Sweet fellowship in shame ! 

Biron (aside). One drunkard loves another of the name. 

Longaville (soliloquizing). Am I the first that has been per- 
jured so ? 

Biron (aside). I could put thee in comfort ; not by two 
that I know ! 

HOW DUMAIN KEPT (?) THE RULES 

JDumain (reads). Do not call it sin in me 
That I am forsworn for thee ! 
Thou for whom even Jove could swear 
Juno but an Ethiop were. 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 
This will I send, and something else, more plain, 
That shall express my true love's fasting pain. 

COMPANIONSHIP IN WRONG MAKES WRONG SEEM RESPECTABLE 

Dumain (soliloquizing). O would the King, Biron, and 
Longaville 
Were lovers, too ! Ill to example ill 
Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note, 
For none offend where all alike do dote. 



b4 WILLIAM SHAKSPEABE 

A TOUCH OF NATURE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD KIN 

Biron (after the guilt of all is exposed to all). 
Sweet Lords, sweet lovers, O let us embrace ! 
As true, we are, as flesh and blood can be. 
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show its face ; 
Young blood doth not obey an old decree. 
We cannot cross the cause why we were born ; 
Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn ! 

AN APPEAL TO BIRON FOR JUSTIFICATION 

King, But what of this ? Are we not all in love ? 

Biron. O nothing so sure ; and thereby all forsworn. 

King. Then leave this chat ; and, good Biron, now prove 
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.' 

Dumain. Ay, marry, there — some flattery for this evil. 

Longaville. O some authority how to proceed ; 
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the Devil. 

Dumain. Some salve for perjury. 

BIRON's appeal to the HEART 

Biron. O, 'tis more than need ! 

Have at you then, affection's men at arms. 
Consider, what you first did swear unto, — 
To fast, — to study, — and to see no woman ; 
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 
Say, can you fast ? Your stomachs are too young ; 
And abstinence engenders maladies. 
And where that you have vow'd to study. Lords, 
In that each of you hath forsworn his book. 
Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look ? 
For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you, 
Have found the ground of study's excellence, 
Without the beauty of a woman's face ? 
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 
They are the ground, the books, the academes, 



KING FERDINAND'S ACADEMY 65 

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. 

Why, universal plodding prisons up 

The nimble spirits in the arteries ; 

As motion, and long-during action, tires 

The sinewy vigor of the traveler. 

Now, for not looking on a woman's face. 

You have in that forsworn the use of eyes ; 

And study, too, the causer of your vow ; 

For where is any author in the world, 

Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye ? 

Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, 

And where we are, our learning likewise is. 

Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, 

Do we not likewise see our learning there ? 

O, we have made a vow to study, Lords ; 
And in that vow we have forsworn our books , 
For when would you, my Liege, or you, or you, 
In leaden contemplation, have found out 
Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes 
Of beauteous tutors have enriched you with ? 
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain, 
And therefore, finding barren practicers. 
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil ; 
But love, first learned in a lady's eyes. 
Lives not alone immured in the brain. 
But, with the motion of all elements, 
Courses as swift as thought in every power, 
And gives to every power a double power. 
Above their functions and their offices. 
It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 
A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound. 
When the suspicious head of theft is stopped. 
Love's feeling is more soft and sensible 
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; 

SCH. IN COM. — 5 



WILLIAM 8HAK8PEARE 

Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. 

For valor is not love a Hercules, 

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides ? 

Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet and musical 

As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair ; 

And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods 

Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 

Never durst poet touch a pen to write. 

Until his ink were tempered with love's sighs. 

O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, 

And plant in tyrants mild humility. 

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive. 
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 
They are the books, the arts, the academes 
That show, contain, and nourish all the world ; 
Else, none at all in aught proves excellent ; 
Then fools you were these women to forswear ; 
Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. 
For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love — 
Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men — 
Or for men's sake, the authors of these women — 
Or women's sake, by whom we men are men — 
Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, 
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. 



Armado [to Holofernes] . Are* you not lettered ? 
Moth. Yes, yes, he teaches boys the horn-book. 
What is a 6, spelt backward, with a horn on his head ? 

1 In the days when books were expensive, the "reading books" for little 
children were rendered more durable by a cover of transparent horn, placed over 
the page in use. (Glass was too rare and costly to be used for this purpose.) 

" The books of stature small they take in hand, 
Which with pellucid horn securfed are, 
To save from fingers wet the letters fair." — Shbnstonb. 

" Neatly secured from being soiled or torn. 
Beneath a pane of thin, translucent horn, 
A book," etc. — Cowper. 



KING FERDINAND'S ACADEMY 67 

Holof ernes. Ba, pueritia [simplicity], with a horn added. 
Moth. Ba ! Most silly sheep, with a horn. You hear his 
learning. 

VOWELS AND PRONOUNS 

Holof ernes. Quis, quis [who, who] , thou consonant ? 

Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat them ; or 

the fifth, if I. 
Holof ernes. I will repeat them, a, e, i — 
Moth. The sheep ; the other two concludes it, o, u. 

costard's faulty latin 

Costard. Thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as 

they say. 

Holof ernes. O, I smell false Latin; '' dunghill," for un- 

guem.^ 

the handsome script of old days^ 

Rosaline. Oh, he hath drawn my picture in his letter. 
Katharine. Fair as a text B in a copy book. 

there's no fool like an old fool 

Princess. None are so surely caught when they are 
catched. 
As wit turned fool ; folly in wisdom hatched 
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school, 
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 

Rosaline. The blood of youth burns not with such excess ■ 
As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 

BIRON reforms HIS SPEECH 

Biron. O, never will I trust to speeches penned. 
Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue, 

1 Ad unguem means, literally, to the nail. Shakspeare has not used it in 
its classic sense. Among the ancients it s'lgni^ed perfect to the touch of the nail. 
The touch of the finger nail was a test of the finish of marble surfaces. 

2 In accordance with the requirements of a busy age, the letters of script 
have been greatly simplified. B was one of the most elaborate of the old-time 
script letters. 



68 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 

Nor never come in visor to my friend, 

Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song — 

Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, 

Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation, 

Figures pedantical. 

I do forswear them ; and I here protest, 

By this white glove (how white the hand, God knows), 

Henceforth my wooing mind shall be expressed 

In russet yeas and honest Kersey noes. 

HOW HE BEGAN THE REFORM 

Blron. And, to begin, wench, so God help me, la ! 
My love to thee is sound, sans [without] crack or flaw. 
Rosaline. Sans '•'- sans^^^ I pray you. 

AN ARTIFICIAL MAN 

Princess. Doth this man [Armado] serve God ? 

Biron. Why ask you ? 

Princess. He speaks not like a man of God's making. 

Armado. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey-monarch, 
for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical ; too, 
too vain ; too, too vain. But we will put it, as they say, to 
fortuna della guerra [the fortunes of war] . 

AN EXHIBITION AT THE 

Holof ernes. Sir, you shall present before her [the Princess] 
the Nine Worthies ^ — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some enter- 
tainment of time, some show in the posterior of this day, to be 
rendered by our assistance — the King's command, and this 
most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman — before the 
Princess ; I say, none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies. 

1 The Nine Worthies, as commonly reckoned, include three Jews, three 
Gentiles, and three Christians. The Jews are Joshua and King David of Scrip- 
ture history, with Judas Maccabaeus, or Machabseus, a hero of the Apocrypha ; 
the Gentiles are Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, and Hector the Trojan ; 
the Christians are Arthur of Britain, Godfrey of Bouillon, and Charlemagne, 



KING FEBBINANB'S ACADEMY 69 

Sir Nathaniel. Where will you find men worthy enough to 
present them ? 

Holof ernes. eJoshua, yourself ; myself or this gallant gentle- 
man, Judas Machabseus ; this swain, because of his great 
limb or joint, shall pass for Pompey the Great ; the page, 
Hercules.^ 

A SMALL HERCULES 

Armado. Pardon, sir, error ; he is not quantity enough for 
that Worthy's thumb. He is not so big as the end of his club. 

Holof ernes. Shall I have audience? He shall present Her- 
cules in minority. His enter and exit shall be strangling a snake ; 
and I will have an apology [explanation] for that purpose. 

THE MODEST SCHOOLMASTER 

Armado. For the rest of the Worthies? 
Holof ernes. I will play three myself. 



King. He [Armado] presents Hector of Troy ; the swain, 
Pompey the Great ; the parish curate, Alexander ; Armado 's 
page, Hercules ; the pedant, Judas Machabseus. 
And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive. 
These four will change habits and present the other five. 

BIRON'S ENUMERATION 

Blron. There is five in the first show. 
King. You are deceived; 'tis not so. 

Blron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, 
and the boy. 

Abate a throw at novum [nine] — and the whole world again 
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein. 

1 Pompey, the Roman hero, and Hercules, of the Grecian mythology, are here 
given a place among "The Nine Worthies." Hercules is said to have strangled 
serpents in his cradle. 



70 WILLIAM SBAKSPBABE 



costard's performance 
{Enter Costard^ armed^for Pompey,') 

Costard, I Pompey am^ — 

Boyet. You lie, you are not he. 

Costard. I Pompey am^ — 

Boyet, With libbard's [leopard's] head on knee. 

Biron, Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with 
thee. 

Costard, I Pompey am,, Pompey,, surnamed the big (.') 

Bumain, The Great, 

Costard, It is Great, sir ; — Pompey, surnamed the Grreat, 
That oft in field., with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat ; 
And traveling along this coast I here am come hy chance, 
And lay my arms before the legs (/) of this sweet lass of France, 
If your Ladyship would say " Thanks, Pompey," I had done. 

Princess. Great thanks, great Pompey. 

moth's performance 

(^JSnter Holof ernes, armed, for Judas ; and Moth, armed, for 

Sercules,') 

Holof ernes. Great Hercules is presented by this imp. 
Whose club hilled Cerberus,'^ that three-headed canus [dog]. 
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, 
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus [hands]. 
Quoniam [since] he seemeth in minority. 
Ergo [therefore] I come with this apology. 
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. (^Exit Moth.) 

HOW THE schoolmaster WAS " BAITED " ^ 

Holof ernes, Judas I am — 
Bumain. A Judas ! 

1 Cerberus, in classic mythology, was a three-headed dog. 

2 The " hazing " scene, which follows, could hardly be described. Besides the 
spoken words of the text, must be imagined the sneers, laughter, hootings, and 
nondescript insults with which the unhappy schoolmaster was " baited." 



KING FEEDINANL'S ACADEMY 71 

Holof ernes. Not Iscariot, sir. Judas I am, ycleped Macha- 
hceus. 

Bumain. Judas Machabseus dipt is plain Judas. 

Biron. A kissing traitor. How art thou proved Judas ! 

Holof ernes. Judas I am — 

Bumain. The more shame for you, Judas ! 

Holof ernes. What mean you, sir ? 

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 

Holof ernes. Begin, sir, you are my elder. 

Biron. Well followed. Judas was hanged on an elder. 

Holof ernes. I will not be put out of countenance. 

Biron. Because thou hast no face. 

Holof ernes [pointing to his face~\. What is this? 

Boyet. A cittern-head. 

Bumain. The head of a bodkin. 

Biron. A death's face in a ring. 

Longaville. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. 

Boyet. The pummel of Csesar's falchion. 

Bumain. The carved bone face on a flask. 

Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch. 

Bumain. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a toothdrawer. And 
now, forward ! for we have put thee in countenance. 

Holof ernes. You have put me out of countenance. 

Biron. False. We have given thee faces. 

Holof ernes. But you have outfaced them all. 

Biron. And thou wert a lion, we would do so. 

Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. 
And so, adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou stay ? 

Bumain. For the latter end of his name. 

Biron. For the ass to the jude. Give it him. Jud-as, 
away. 

Holof ernes. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. 

Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas. It grows dark ; he 
may stumble. 

Princess. Alas, poor Machabseus, how hath he been baited ! 



72 WILLIAM SHAKSPEABE 



BIRON S PENANCE AND REFORMATION 

Biron. Studies my Lady ? Mistress, look on me, 
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye. 
What humble suit attends thy answer there ; 
Impose some service on me for thy love. 

Rosaline. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron, 
Before I saw you ; and the world's large tongue 
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks ; 
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts. 
Which you on all estates will execute. 
That lie within the mercy of your wit ; 
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, 
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please 
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day 
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse 
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be. 
With all the fierce endeavor of your wit. 
To enforce the paindd impotent to smile. 

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death ? 
It cannot be ; it is impossible I 
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 

Rosaline. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit 
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace 
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools. 
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
Of him that makes it , then, if sickly ears, 
Deafed with the clamors of their own dear groans. 
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, 
And I will have you, and that fault withal ; 
But if they will not, throw away that spirit. 
And I shall find you empty of that fault. 
Right joyful of your reformation. 

Biron. A twelvemonth ? AVell, befall what will befall, 
I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 



FENELON, THE MENTOR 

There is a javenile book "which is translated into every considerable 
language of modern Eui'ope — even into the Turkish and the modern 
Greek — and is read by boys and girls from Lisbon to Novgorod, and from 
Stockholm to Athens. Art is exhausted in embellishing this treasured 
volume. Yet it is a very old book, and the scenes which it describes belong 
to a period many centuries before the time of Christ. 

That such work is still read is due in part to the marvelously perfect style 
iu which it is written — which is the despair of imitators — and in part to 
its value to the educational world, as a book of inspii-ation to pupils and to 
teachers. 

The book possesses a sentimental interest, since it is associated with the 
training of a boy who was the hope of France, and who, had he lived, might 
have changed the history of Europe in the last two centuries. It was not 
ordered that this should be ; but the student of history reflects with interest 
upon the vast possibilities which were centered in the Prince whose charac- 
ter was molded, and whose mind was broadened, by the tutelage of such 
a mentor as the author of Telemaque (ta-la-mahc'). 

It is the desire of every student of the French language to read this 
charming classic. Indeed, the best of English versions are far inferior in 
style to the original work. The book is long, and, as a whole, is familiar 
to but few readers in the United States, though most students and teachers 
are always interested in its history, and the endearing word mentor, which 
we have derived from it, is in familiar use. 

The English form of the classic name Telemaque (which is taken from 
Homer's Iliad) is Telem'achus; but in these pages the French form is 
retained, as more appropriate to a work and a character so purely the crea- 
tion of French genius. 

Francois de Salignac, son of the IMarquis of Fenelon (fa-n'-lon'), was 
born in his father's castle, in what is now the Department of Dordogne, 
France, in 1651. He was carefully educated for the church, and at the age 
of twenty was perhaps the most eloquent pulpit orator in Paris. Appointed 
to reestablish the power of the church in a district which had become 
largely Protestant, he was distinguished for his moderation in speech and 
in action. After serving in various positions of ecclesiastical preferment, 

73 



74 P^NELON 

he was made Archbishop of Cambray. He died in 1715. His life and 
death were a beautiful exemplification of Christian character. King Louis 
XTV., who had persecuted him with expressions of ill-will, exclaimed on 
learning of the archbishop's death : 

" Alas, we have lost him, when we require him most ! " 
Fenelon's greatest service to mankind grew out of his appointment — at 
the age of thirty-eight — to be tutor to the young Duke of Burgundy, grand- 
son of the King, and heir presumptive of the throne of France. The tutor's 
task was such as comes to but few. He developed his idea of a school of 
one pupil in the composition of a prose epic, which was unique in literature. 
Taking for his subject Telemaque (the son of Ulysses, the Greek hero), who 
is represented by Homer as having for his guardian the sage Mentor, — an 
incarnation of the goddess Athena, — Fenelon follows the young Prince in 
a tour of the ancient world, and weaves into his story the lore of ancient 
epics and tragedies.^ The Telemaque became a sort of secular Pilgrim's 
Progress, and was read and admired in every European nation. It is the 
classic model of a large class of writings. In pur own country Jacob Abbott, 
who has largely influenced American character and education, availed him- 
self of the idea of the work to write various series of books of travel, in 
which he portrayed the mental and moral training of supposititious youths, 
each pursuing his travels and his studies under the care of an elder com- 
panion, or mentor. Fenelon's success as a tutor has been thus described : 

" Confidence creates responsibility ; and the more honorable the circum- 
stances which distinguish any trust conferred on the individual, the greater 
must be his solicitude to discharge it in such a manner as not to disappoint 
the expectations of others. But this feeling was among the least of those 
difficulties which Fenelon had undertaken to surmount. The Prince whose 
moral as well as literary education he was appointed to conduct had attained 
to an age at which the human disposition is in some measure fixed ; when 
the passions, inflamed by early indulgence, have become obstinate through 
habit. His pupil, who had already learned his individual importance in 
the state, and who seemed in imagination a monarch, was haughty, pre- 
sumptuous, irritable, untractable, confident of being right, unaccustomed to 
contradiction, and impatient of control. He found himself born to dictate 
obedience to others, and accordingly viewed himself as exempted from any 
necessity to regulate and govern his own inclinations. Fenelon, however, 
had prepared the only system of tuition calculated to affect and improve. 
He aimed not merely at scientific instruction, but at moral amelioration — 

1 Educators have become generally aware of the value of narratives of travel 
— real or imaginary — in the teaching of geography and history. The plan of 
Fenelon, varied in a thousand ways, is now an essential element in the teach- 
ing of these subjects in representative schools. 



F^NELON 75 

he aspired to the formation of character.^ His first step was to touch the 
heart of his royal disciple, and then to acquire his esteem and confidence. 
He knew that a preceptor must seek to be loved, if he would be listened to 
with delight. He therefore divested teaching of its formality, and rendered 
that at first deskable, which should at last be considered indispensable. 
He was the Mentor of his Telemaque." ^ 

Perhaps no compilation of literature relating to teachers would be con- 
sidered representative that should omit the inimitable classic of Fenelon. 
The school of one pupil may often prove the most difficult to teach aright. 
To the educational world the Archbishop's labor of love is a legacy of great 
moral power and beauty. 

" Born at the beginning of the second half of the great century which he 
served in no small measure to render illustrious, Fenelon was one of the 
last representatives of that classic epoch, and he preceded Louis XIV. to 
the tomb by only a few months. Member of the French Academy, Arch- 
bishop of Cambray, the illustrious vn-iter owes to his immortal Telemaque 
his characterization as ' the Racine of Prose.' This chef d'oeuvre of poetic 
style, of morals, and of politics, was composed for the education of the 
Duke of Burgundy, of whom Fenelon was the worthy preceptor. . . . His 
Fables, full of eloquence, of grace, and of naturalness, as also his Dialogues 
of the Dead, wherein lofty moral lessons are concealed under familiar and 
interesting discussions of illustrious personages of history, were to the same 
end. Fenelon is the first of all the French prose writers, by reason of his 
pure, flowing, harmonious style, full of grace and of imagination." 

— Edward H. Magill. 

1 The use of moral tales for the cultivation of character in the schoolroom is 
of great importance. This fact is fully recognized in the best schools of the 
present day. The subject is presented at length in a recent work by a leading 
American pedagogist, —School Management, by Dr. E. E. White. 

2 All who read the Telemaque are naturally interested to learn the fate of the 
young Duke for whom it was written. The following is taken from a sketch by 
Eugene Lawrence : 

"When the Duke of Burgundy, the Dauphin's eldest son, and heir to the 
crown, had married, amidst pageants of unprecedented splendor, Mary of Savoy, 
that amiable but heedless Princess had won the regard of Louis (the King) ; and 
the good qualities of the young Duke, who had been educated under Fenelon, 
seemed to promise a happier era for the suffering people. Two sons were born to 
Mary ; and the family of the Duke of Burgundy formed a center of promise in the 
corrupt atmosphere of Versailles. Death now descended upon the guilty court, at- 
tended by all the horrors of suspicion and doubt. The Dauphin was seized with 
smallpox, and died. Louis fainted in an agony of grief, but fled hastily from 
the infected chamber. His courtiers followed him, and the heir of the French 
throne was buried in haste, with only a few strangers to attend his funeral. In 
February, 1712, a box of Spanish snuff was presented to Mary. Soon after, she 



76 F^NELON 

TELEMAQUE AND MENTOR 

(From Telemaque) 

Principal Personages 

Telemaque', or Telem'achus, a youth of sixteen years (the 
son of Ulys'ses,^ King of Ith'aca), who is traversing the seas in 
search of his father, whom he has not seen since early infancy. 

Men 'tor, the companion of T^l^maque; in appearance, an 
elderly man — in reality, the disguised goddess Athe'na 
(Miner 'va). He is the guardian of the youth. 

Calyp'so, an inferior divinity of the Greeks (fabled to 
reign over the isle of Ogyg'ia^), whose unhappj?- love for 
Ulysses and Telemaque — successively shipwrecked upon her 
shore — tempted them to remain away from home and from 
duty. 

Nausic 'hates, a Ore 'tan, who induced T^l^maque to enter 
the lists as a competitor for the throne of Crete. 

died delirious, and with every trace of poison. Her husband, the Duke, soon 
after perislied in similar torments. Their eldest son also died. The Duke de 
Berri, second son of the Dauphin, followed next, the victim of his own wife. 
The cry of poison resounded throughout the nation." 

1 The Trojan War (in which Ulysses was a leader of the Greeks) is sepa- 
rated from us by a measureless ocean of time. No one pretends to know when 
it occurred, though all agree that it could not have been much less than twelve 
centuries before the time of Christ. Many have deemed it a purely imaginary 
event. Excavations made upon the supposed site of Troy (in Asia Minor) 
within the past quarter-century by Dr. Heinrich Schliemann, the German 
traveler and archaeologist, seem to confirm much of the account of the siege of 
that city, as given in Homer's Hind. The war is said to have lasted ten years. 
Ulysses passed as many more in his wanderings, on his homeward journey, 
after the close of the conflict. Homer's Iliad relates the story of the war ; his 
Od'yssey recounts the wanderings of Ulysses. 

2 It will perhaps interest the reader to know that the isle of Calypso, formerly 
called Ogyg'ia, is the modern Gozzo (got'so) in the Mediterranean Sea. It is 
about nine miles long, and half as broad. It lies very near to Malta, which is 
believed to be the scene of St. Paul's shipwreck (see Acts xxii.). Owing to 
their location, Malta and Gozzo are important as naval stations of the British. 



T^L^MAQUE AND MENTOR 77 

Calypso Avas unable to console herself for the departure of 
Ulysses; and she regretted her immortality, as that which 
could only perpetuate affliction, and aggravate calamity by 
despair. Her grotto no more echoed with the music of her 
voice; and her nymphs waited at a distance with timidity and 
in silence. She often wandered alone along the borders of her 
island, amidst the luxuriance of a perpetual spring; and the 
beauties that bloomed around her, instead of soothing her 
grief, only impressed more strongly upon her mind the mem- 
ory of Ulysses, who had been so often the companion of her 
walks. Sometimes she stood motionless upon the beach; and 
while her eyes were fixed on that part of the horizon where 
the lessening bark of the hero had at length disappeared, they 
overflowed with tears. Here she was one day surprised by the 
sudden appearance of a shipwreck. Broken benches and oars 
lay scattered about upon the sand; and a rudder, a mast, and 
some cordage were floating near the shore. Soon after she per- 
ceived at a distance two men, one of whom appeared to be old, 
and in the other, although a youth, she discovered a strong 
resemblance to Ulysses; the same benevolence and dignity 
were united in his aspect, his stature was equally tall, and 
his port majestic. The goddess knew immediately that this 
was Teldmaque, but notwithstanding the penetration of divine 
sagacity, she could not discover who was his companion; for 
it is the perogative of superior deities to conceal whatever they 
please from those of a lower class, and it was the pleasure of 
Minerva, who accompanied Tel^maque in the likeness of Men- 
tor, to be concealed from Calypso. Calypso, however, rejoiced 
in the happy shipwreck, which had restored Ulysses to her 
wishes, in the person of his son. She advanced to meet him; 
and affecting not to know him: 

"How hast thou presumed," said she, "to land on this 
island ? Knowest thou not that from my dominions no daring 
intruder departs unpunished ? ' ' 

By this menace she hoped to conceal the joy which glowed 
in her bosom, and which she could not prevent from sparkling 
in her countenance. 



78 . FJ^NELON 

"Whoever thou art," replied Tel^maque, ''whether thou 
art indeed a goddess, or whether, with all the appearance of 
divinity, thou art yet mortal, canst thou regard with insensi- 
bility the misfortunes of a son who, committing his life to the 
caprice of the winds and waves in search of a father, has suf- 
fered shipwreck against these rocks ? ' ' 

''Who, then, is thy father, whom thou seekest?" inquired 
the goddess. 

" He is one of the confederate Kings," answered Telemaque, 
"who, after a siege of ten years, laid Troy in ashes; and his 
name is Ulys'ses — a name which he has rendered famous by his 
prowess, and yet more by his wisdom, not only through all 
Greece, but to the remotest boundaries of Asia. This Ulysses, 
the mighty and the wise, is now a wanderer on the deep, the 
sport of tempests which no force can resist, and the prey of 
dangers which no sagacity can elude. His country seems to 
fly before him. PeneVope, his wife, despairs at Ithaca of his 
return ; and I, though equally destitute of hope, pursue him 
through all the perils that he has passed, and seek him upon 
every coast. I seek him, but alas ! perhaps the sea has already 
closed over him forever ! O goddess, compassion upon our 
distress ; and if thou knowest what the fates have wrought, 
either to save or to destroy Ulysses, vouchsafe this knowledge 
to T61^maque, his son ! " 

Such force of eloquence, such maturity of wisdom, and such 
blooming youth, filled the bosom of Calypso with astonishment 
and tenderness. She gazed upon him with a fixed attention; 
but her eyes were still unsatisfied, and she remained some time 
silent. At length she said : 

"We will acquaint Telemaque with the adventures of his 
father, but the story will be long; it is now time that you 
should repair by rest that strength which has been exhausted 
by labor. I will receive you to my dwelling, as my son; you 
shall be my comfort in this solitude ; and if you are not volun- 
tarily wretched, I will be your happiness." 

T^l^maque followed the goddess, who was encircled by a 



TJSLI^MAqUE AND MENTOR 79 

crowd of young nymphs, among whom she was distinguished 
by the superiority of her stature, as the towering summit of a 
lofty oak is seen in the midst of a forest, above all the trees 
that surround it. He was struck with the splendor of her 
beauty, the rich purple of her long and flowing robe, her hair, 
that was tied with graceful negligence behind her, and the 
vivacity and softness that were mingled in her eyes. Mentor 
followed T^l^maque, modestly silent, and looking downward. 
When they arrived at the entrance of the grotto, Tel^maque 
was surprised to discover, under the appearance of rural sim- 
plicity, whatever could captivate the sight. There was, in- 
deed, neither gold nor silver, nor yet marble; no decorated 
columns, no paintings, no statues were to be seen; but the 
grotto consisted of several vaults cut in the rock; the roof was 
embellished with shells and pebbles, and the want of tapestry 
was supplied by the luxuriance of a young vine, which ex- 
tended its branches equally on every side. Here the heat of the 
sun was tempered by the freshness of the breeze; the rivulets, 
that with soothing murmurs wandered through meadows of 
intermingled violets and amaranth, formed innumerable baths 
that were pure and transparent as crystal; the verdant carpet 
which nature had spread round the grotto was adorned with a 
thousand flowers; and at a small distance there was a wood of 
those trees that in every season unfold new blossoms, which 
diffuse ambrosial fragrance, and ripen into golden fruit. In 
this wood, which was impervious to the rays of the sun, and 
heightened the beauty of the adjacent meadows by an agree- 
able opposition of light and shade, nothing was to be heard 
but the melody of birds or the fall of water, which, precipi- 
tated from the summit of a rock, was dashed into foam 
below, where, forming a small rivulet, it glided hastily over 
the meadow. 

The goddess, having displayed this profusion of beauty to 
T^l^maque, dismissed him. 

"Go, now," said she, ''and refresh yourself, and change 
your apparel, which is wet. I will afterwards see you again, 



80 F^NELON 

and relate such things as shall not only amuse your ear, but also 
affect your heart." 

She then caused him to enter, with his friend, into the most 
secret recess of a grotto adjoining her own. Here the nymphs 
had already kindled a fire with some billets of cedar, which 
perfumed the place, and had left changes of apparel for 
the new guests. Tel^maque, perceiving that a tunic of the 
finest wool, whiter than snow, and a purple robe richly em- 
broidered with gold were intended for him, contemplated the 
magnificence of his dress with a pleasure into which young 
minds are easily betrayed. 

Mentor perceived his weakness, and reproved it. 

''Are these, then," said he, ''O Tel^maque, such thoughts 
as become the son of Ulysses? Be thou, rather, studious to 
appropriate the character of thy father, and to surmount the 
persecutions of fortune. The youth who, like a vain woman, 
loves to adorn his person, has renounced all claims to wisdom 
and to glory. Glory is due to those, only, who dare to associ- 
ate with pain, and have trampled pleasure under their feet." 

Telemaque answered with a sigh : 

'' May the gods destroy me, rather than suffer me to be 
enslaved by voluptuous effeminacy ! No ; the son of Ulysses 
shall never be seduced by the charms of enervating and ingloii- 
ous ease. But how gracious is Heaven, to have directed us, 
destitute and shipwrecked, to this goddess or mortal, who has 
loaded us with benefits." 

" Fear, rather," replied Mentor; ''lest her wiles should over- 
whelm thee with ruin ; fear her deceitful blandishments more 
than the rocks on which thou has suffered shipwreck ; for ship- 
wreck and death are less dreadful than those pleasures by which 
virtue is subverted. Believe not the tales which she will 
relate. The presumption of youth hopes all things from itself, 
and, however impotent, believes it has power over every event ; 
it dreams of security in the midst of danger, and listens to 
subtle wit without suspicion. Beware of the seducing elo- 
quence of Calypso, that mischief which, like a serpent, is con- 



tj^l:^maque and mentor 81 

cealed by the flowers under which it approaches. Dread the 
latent poison. Trust not thyself, but confide implicitly in my 
counsel." 

They then returned to Calypso, who waited for them ; and 
her nymphs, who were dressed in white, and had their hair 
braided, set before them a repast which, though it was simple, 
and consisted only of such game as they had either taken with 
their nets or killed in the chase, was yet of exquisite taste, and 
served up with the utmost elegance. Wine, more richly flavored 
than nectar, was poured from large silver vases, and sparkled 
in cups of gold that were wreathed with flowers ; and baskets 
were heaped with all the variety of fruit that is promised by 
spring and bestowed by autumn. In the mean time, four of 
the attendant nymphs began to sing. Their first theme was 
the battle of the gods and Titans ; then they celebrated the 
loves of Jupiter and Sem'ele ; the birth of Bac'chus, and his 
education under old Sile'nus ; the race of Atalanta, with Hip- 
pom'enes, whom she conquered with golden apples that were 
gathered in the garden of the Hesper'ides. The wars of Troy 
were reserved to the last ; the prowess and the wisdom of 
Ulysses were extolled with all the hyperbole of praise, and the 
principal nymph, whose name was Leucoth'oe, to the harmoni- 
ous voices of the chorus joined the music of her lyre. When 
T^lemaque heard the name of his father, the tears which stole 
down his cheeks added new luster to his beauty ; but Calypso, 
perceiving that he was too sensibly touched, and neglected to 
eat, made a signal to her nymphs, and they immediately changed 
the subject to the battle of the Centaurs with the Laph'ithse, and 
the descent of Orpheus to bring back his Euryd'ice from Hades. 

When the repast was ended. Calypso took Telemaque aside, 
and addressed him thus : 

' ' Thou seest, O son of the great Ulysses, with what favor 
I have received thee. Know that I am immortal. No human 
foot profanes this island unpunished ; nor could even shipwreck 
have averted my indignation from thee, if my heart were not 
touched with more than thy misfortunes. Thy father was 

SCH. IN COM. — 6 



82 F^NELON 

equally distinguished by my favor ; but alas ! he knew not 
how to improve the advantage. I detained him long in this 
asylum ; and here he might have lived forever, in a state of 
immortality with me ; but a fond desire of returning to his 
wretched island blinded him to the prospect of superior felicity. 
Thou seest what he has lost for Ithaca, a country to which he 
can never return. He resolved to leave me, and departed ; 
but a tempest revenged the insult, and the vessel in which he 
was embarked, having been long the sport of the storm, was at 
last swallowed up in the deep. Let this example influence thy 
conduct. All hopes of again seeing thy father, and of succeed- 
ing to his throne, are now at an end ; but do not too deeply 
regret his loss, since thou hast found a goddess, who offers 
thee superior dominion, and more permanent happiness." 

Calypso, perceiving that it was not now her interest to press 
him further, feigned to participate in his sorrow, and to regret 
the fate of Ulysses; but that she might gain a more perfect 
knowledge of the means by which his affections were to be 
engaged, she inquired the particulars of his shipwreck, and by 
what accident he had been thrown upon her coast. 

" The story of my misfortunes," said he, "will be too long." 

' ' However long, ' ' said Calypso, ' ' I am impatient to hear 
it; indulge me, therefore, without delay." T^l^maque often 
refused ; but she continued her solicitations, and at length he 
complied. 

"I set out from Ithaca to inquire after my father, of those 
princes who had returned from the siege of Troy. The suitors 
of Penel'ope, my mother, were surprised at my departure, be- 
cause from them, whom I knew to be perfidious, I had concealed 
my purpose; but neither Nes'tor, whom I saw at Py'los, nor 
Menela'us, who received me with affection at Lacedemon, knew 
whether my father was among the living or the dead. I was 
at length impatient of perpetual suspense and uncertainty, and 
therefore formed a resolution to go into Sicily, whither my 
father was said to have been driven by contrary winds. But 
the prudence of Mentor, who is here the companion of my 



t£lj^maque and mentor 83 

fortunes, opposed the execution of so rash a design by represent- 
ing my danger, on the one hand from the Cyclops, the gigantic 
monsters who riot upon human flesh, and on the other from the 
fleet of ^neas and the Trojans, who were hovering about those 
coasts. 'The Trojans,' said he, 'are irritated against all the 
Greeks, but above all against Ulysses, whose son, therefore, 
they would rejoice to destroy. Return, then, to Ithaca; perhaps 
your father, who is beloved by the gods, may have returned 
already; but if Heaven has decreed his death, if he shall see 
Ithaca no more, it is fit that you return to avenge him, and to 
deliver your mother ; to display your wisdom to attendi?ig 
nations, and to let all Greece behold in Telemaque a sovereign 
not less worthy of the throne than Ulysses.' This counsel 
which was the voice of reason, I rejected and listened only to 
the suggestions of my passions; but such was the affection of 
my friend that he embarked with me for that voyage, which, 
in the folly of my presumption, I undertook contrar}^ to his 
advice; and the gods, perhaps, permitted the fault, that the 
calamity which it drew upon me might teach me wisdom." 

While Telemaque had been speaking. Calypso had atten- 
tively considered Mentor, and was suddenly chilled with aston- 
ishment. She imagined that she perceived in him something 
more than human ; and not being able to resolve the perplexity 
of her thoughts into any probable determination, the presence 
of this inscrutable being continued to agitate her mind with 
suspicion and dread. But fearing yet more that her confusion 
should be perceived, 

"Proceed," said she to T^ldmaque, "to gratify my curi- 
osity ; " and Telemaque accordingly continued his story. 
******** 

Calypso, who had sat motionless till this instant, and listen- 
ing with inexpressible delight to the adventures of T^l^maque, 
now interrupted him, that he might enjoy some respite. 

" It is time," said she, "that after so many toils you should 
taste the sweets of repose. In this island you have nothing to 
fear. Everything is here subservient to your wishes. Open 



84 F^NELON 

your heart, therefore, to joy, and make room for all the bless- 
ings of peace, which the gods are preparing for you ; and to- 
morrow, when the rosy fingers of Aurora shall unlock the 
golden doors of the East, and the steeds of Phoebus shall 
spring up from the deep, diffusing the beams of day, and driv- 
ing before them the stars of heaven, the history of your mis- 
fortunes, my dear Telemaque, shall be resumed. You have 
exceeded even your father in wisdom and in courage ; nor has 
Achil'les, the conqueror of Hector ; nor The'seus, who returned 
from Hades ; nor even the great Alci'des, who delivered the 
earth from so many monsters, displayed either fortitude or 
virtue equal to yours. May one deep and unbroken slumber 
render the night short to you ; though to me, alas ! it will be 
wearisome and long. With what impatience shall I desire 
again to see you ; to hear your voice ; to urge you to repeat 
what I have been told already, and to inquire after what I am 
still to learn ! Go, then, my dear Telemaque, with that friend 
whom the bounty of the gods has again restored ; retire into 
the grotto which has been prepared for your repose. May Mor- 
pheus shed his benign influence upon your eyelids, that are 
now heavy with watching, and diffuse a pleasing languor through 
your limbs, that are fatigued with labor ! May he cause the 
most delightful dreams to sport around you, fill your imagi- 
nation with gay ideas, and keep far from you whatever might 
chase them away too soon ! " 

The goddess then conducted Telemaque into the separate 
grotto, which was not less rural or pleasant than her own. In 
one part of it the lulling murmurs of a fountain invited sleep 
to the weary, and in another the nymphs had prepared two beds 
of the softest moss, and covered them with two large skins — one 
with that of a lion, for Telemaque, and the other with that of a 
bear, for Mentor. 

They were now alone, but Mentor, before he resigned his 
eyes to sleep, spoke thus to T^l^maque : 

"The pleasure of relating your adventures has. ensnared 
you, for by displaying the dangers which you have surmounted 



TJ^L^MAQUE AND MENTOR 85 

by your courage and your ingenuity, you have captivated 
Calypso ; and in proportion as you have inflamed her passions, 
you have insured your own captivity. Can it be hoped that 
she will suffer him to depart who has displayed such power 
to please ? You have been betrayed into indiscretion by your 
vanity. She promised to relate some stories to you, and to 
acquaint you with the adventures and the fate of Ulysses, but 
she has found means to say much without giving you any 
information, and to draw from you whatever she desired to 
know. Such are the arts of the flatterer and the wanton. 
When, O Tel^maque, will you be wise enough to resist the 
impulse of vanity, and know how to suppress incidents that do 
you honor, when it is not fit that they should be related? 
Others, indeed, admire the wisdom that you possess at an age 
in which they think folly might be forgiven, but I can over- 
look nothing ; your heart is known only to me, and there is no 
other who loves you well enough to tell you your faults. How 
much does your father still surpass you in wisdom ! " 

''Could I then," asked T^l^maque, '' have refused an account 
of my misfortunes to Calypso ? ' ' 

"No," replied Mentor, "but you should have gratified her 
curiosity by reciting only such circumstances as might have 
aroused her compassion. You might have told her that, after 
having long wandered from place to place, you were first a cap- 
tive in Sicily, and then a slave in Egypt. This would have been 
enough ; and all that was more served only to render more 
active that poison which now rages at her heart — a poison 
from which pray the gods that thy heart may be defended. ' ' 

" But what can now be done ? " said Telemaque. 

"Now," replied Mentor, "the sequel of your story cannot 
be suppressed. Calypso knows too much to be deceived in 
that which she has yet to learn, and to attempt it would be only 
to displease her. Proceed, therefore, to-morrow in your account 
of all that the gods have done for you, and speak another time 
with more modesty of such actions of your own as may be 
thought to merit praise." 



86 FENELON 

This salutary advice was received by T^l^maque with the 
same friendship with which it was given by Mentor, and they 
immediately lay down to rest. 

As soon as the first rays of Phoebus glanced upon the moun- 
tains, Mentor heard the voice of Calypso calling to her nymphs 
in the neighboring wood, and awakened Telemaque. 

'' It is time," said he, "to repress the encroachment of sleep ; 
let us now return to Calypso, but put no confidence in her 
words. Shut your heart against her, and dread the delicious 
poison of her praise. Yesterday she exalted you above the 
wise Ulysses, your father, and the invincible Achilles ; above 
Theseus, who filled the earth with his fame, and Hercules, 
who obtained a place in the skies. Did you perceive the excess 
of such adulation, or did you believe her praises to be just ? 
Calypso herself laughs in secret at so romantic a falsehood, 
which she uttered only because she believed you to be so vain 
as to be gratified by the grossest flattery, and so weak as to be 
imposed upon by the most extravagant improbability." 

They now approached the place where they were expected 
by the goddess. The moment she perceived them, she forced 
a smile, and attempted to conceal, under the appearance of 
joy, the dread and anxiety which agitated her bosom, for she 
foresaw that, under the direction of Mentor, Telemaque, like 
Ulysses, would elude her snares. 

*' Come, my dear T^l^maque," said she, "and relieve me 
from the impatience of curiosity. I have dreamt all the night 
of your departure from Phoenicia to seek new adventures in the 
isle of Cyprus. Let us not, therefore, lose another moment ; 
make haste to satisfy me with knowledge, and put an end to 
the illusions of conjecture." 

They then sat doAvn upon the grass, that was intermingled 
with violets; and a lofty grove spread its shadow over them. 

Calypso could not refrain from looking frequently, with the 
most passionate tenderness, at Telemaque, nor perceive without 
indignation that every glance of her eye was remarked by 
Mentor. All her nymphs silently ranged themselves in a semi- 



TELEMAQVE AND MENTOR 87 

circle, and leaned forward with the utmost eagerness of atten- 
tion. The eyes of tlie whole assembly were immovably fixed 
on T^l^maque, who, looking downward and blushing with the 
most graceful modesty, continued his narrative. 

Tblkmaque relates what befell him on reaching the Island 
OF Crete/ where he was greeted by Nausicrates 

' ' ' The Cretans, ' said Nausicrates, ' having lost their King, 
have resolved to elect such a person in his stead as will admin- 
ister the established laws in their utmost purity. For this pur- 
pose the principal inhabitants of every city have been summoned 
to this place; the sacrifices, which are the first solemnities of 
the election, are already begun; the most celebrated sages of 
all the neighboring countries are assembled to propose questions 
to the candidates, as a trial of their sagacity; and preparations 
are made for public games, to determine their courage, strength, 
and activity. For the Cretans are resolved that, as their king- 
dom is the prize, they will bestow it upon him only who shall 
be adjudged superior to all others, both in body and in mind; 
and to render the victory more difficult by increasing the num- 
ber of competitors, all foreigners are invited to the contest.' 

"Nausicrates, after having related these astonishing events, 
pressed us to enter the list. ' Make haste, ' said he, ' O stran- 
gers, to our assembly, and engage among others in the contest ; 
for if the gods decree the victory to either of you, he will be 
the sovereign of Crete.' He then turned hastily from us; and 
we followed him, not with any desire of victory, but only that 
we might gratify our curiosity by being present at so uncommon 
and important a transaction. 

' ' We came to a kind of circus, of vast extent, in the middle 
of a thick forest. Within the circus was an area prepared for 

1 The island of Crete was a celebrated land of antiquity, and is said to have 
contained a hundred cities. Its greatness and its perfection in all that makes up 
the life of the citizen were ascribed to the great lawgiver Mi'nos, a legendary- 
king and prophet, the moral of whose life and work are sedulously impressed 
upon T616maque by Mentor, in the narrative. 



88 F^NELON 

the combatants, surrounded by a circular bank of fresh turf, 
on which were seated an innumerable multitude of spectators. 
We were received with the utmost civility, for the Cretans ex- 
cel all other people in a liberal and religious performance of the 
duties of hospitality. They not only caused us to be seated, 
but invited us to engage in the exercises. Mentor declined, 
on account of his age; and Ha'zael, as being in an ill state of 
health. My youth and vigor left me no excuse, however. I 
turned my eyes upon Mentor, to discover his sentiments, and 
I perceived that he wished I should engage. I therefore ac- 
cepted the offer that had been made me; and throwing off my 
apparel, my limbs were anointed with oil, and I placed myself 
among the other combatants. A rumor immediately passed 
through the whole multitude that the new candidate for the 
kingdom was the son of Ulysses, — for several of the Cretans, 
who had been at Ithaca when I was a child, remembered my 
face. 

' ' The first exercise was wrestling. A Rhodian, who ap- 
peared to be about thirty-five years of age, threw all that ven- 
tured to encounter him. He was still in his full vigor; his 
arms were nervous and brawny; his muscles were discovered 
at every motion, and his limbs were not less supple and strong. 
There was now no competitor remaining but myself; and as he 
thought no honor was to be gained by overcoming so feeble an 
opponent, he indulged the compassion which he felt for my 
youth, and would have retired; but I pressed forward, and 
presented myself before him. We immediately seized each 
other, and grappled till both were out of breath; we stood 
shoulder to shoulder, and foot to foot; every nerve was strained, 
our arms were entwined like serpents in each other, and each 
of us endeavored to lift his antagonist from the ground. He 
attempted to throw me, sometimes by surprise and sometimes 
by mere strength, sometimes on one side, and sometimes on the 
other; but while he was thus practicing all his skill and force 
upon me, I threw myself forward by a sudden effort, with such 
violence that, the muscles of his back giving way, he fell to 



T^L^MAQUE AND MENTOR 89 

the ground and drew me upon him. All his efforts to get me 
under were ineffectual. I held him immovable under me, till 
the multitude shouted, 

' ' ' Victory to the son of Ulysses ! ' 

''And then I assisted him to rise, and he retired in confu- 
sion. 

'' The combat of the cestus^ was more difficult. 
• ''The son of a wealthy citizen of Samos had acquired much 
reputation in this exercise, so that the rest of the candidates 
yielded to him without contest ; and the hope of victory ani- 
mated no bosom but mine. In the first onset I received such 
blows in the head and stomach that blood gushed from my 
mouth and nostrils, and a thick mist seemed to fall upon my 
eyes ; and I was just sinking, faint and breathless, when I 
heard Mentor cry out, 

" ' O son of Ulysses, wilt thou be vanquished ? ' 

" The voice of my friend encouraged me to farther resist- 
ance, and disdain supplied me with new strength. I avoided 
several blows, under which I must otherwise have sunk, and, 
my antagonist having missed a stroke, I seized the opportunity 
of his arm being carried away by its own vigor and his body 
bent forward, to aim a blow at him that he could not ward off, 
and I raised my cestus that it might descend with greater 
force. He saw my advantage and, stepping back, he writhed 
his body to avoid the stroke. By this motion the equilibrium 
was destroyed, and I easily threw him to the ground. I imme- 
diately offered him my hand, which he refused ; and he got up 
without assistance, covered with dust and blood, but though 
he showed the utmost shame at his defeat, yet he did not dare 
to renew the combat. 

1 A partial covering for the hand, made of leather and used in boxing. In 
ancient days, when the defense of nations and of persons depended upon mus- 
cular strength and skill in the close combat of individuals, the exercise of boxing 
was a necessary part of the training of youths. Sometimes the cestus was 
loaded with bits of iron or lead, and the contest of the boxers became deadly. 
Modern boxing gloves render the exercise of boxing safe and unobjectionable, 
and generally belong to the outfit of a gymnasium at the present time. 



90 F^NELON 

" The chariot races immediately followed.^ 

' ' The chariots were distributed by lot, and mine happened 
to be the worst of the whole number ; the wheels were heavier, 
and the horses less vigorous. We started, and the cloud of 
dust that rose behind us obscured the sky. At the beginning 
of the race I suffered the others to get before me ; but a young 
Lacedemonian, whose name was Grantor, left them all behind 
him ; and Polycle'tus, a Cretan, followed him at a small dis- 
tance. Hippom'achus, who was a relation of Idom'eneus, and 
who was ambitious to succeed him, giving reins to his horses, 
which were covered with sweat, leaned forward over their 
necks, and the wheels whirled round with such rapidity that, 
like the wings of an eagle floating upon the air, they seemed 
not to move at all. My horses, which had breathed by degrees, 
beginning now to exert themselves, soon left at a great dis- 
tance behind them almost all those that had set out with so 
much ardor ; and, Hippomachus pressing forward with too 
much eagerness to keep his advantage, the most vigorous of 
his horses fell down, and put an end to the hopes of his master. 
Polycletus, leaning too much over his horses, was thrown out 
of his chariot by a sudden shock ; the reins were forced out 
of his hand ; and though he had now no hope of victory, he 
thought himself happy to have escaped with his life. Grantor, 
perceiving with jealousy and indignation that I was now close 
behind him, urged his team forward with more eagerness, some- 
times vowing rich offerings to the gods, and sometimes encour- 
aging his horses. He was afraid I should pass him, by driving 
between his chariot and the barrier of the course, because my 
horses, having been less exhausted, were able to get before 
him if they had room, though they should wheel round on the 
outside of the track. This could not be prevented otherwise 

1 The following description will bring to the minds of many readers the chariot 
race in Ben Hur, and the inspiring scene presented to the imagination of the 
Apostle when he wrote, — " Wherefore, seeing we also are encompassed about 
with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin 
which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set 
before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith." 



TELl^MAQUE AND MENTOR 91 

than by obstructing the passage. He therefore, though he 
saw the danger of the attempt, drove up so close to the barrier 
that his wheel, being forced against it, was torn off, and his 
chariot dismounted. I had now nothing to do but to turn 
short, that I might keep clear of him ; and the next moment 
he saw me at the goal. The multitude once more shouted, 

' ' ' Victory to the son of Ulysses ! It is he whom the gods 
have appointed to reign over us ! ' 

' ' We were then conducted by the most illustrious and vener- 
able of the Cretans into a wood, which had been long kept 
sacred from the vulgar and profane, where we were convened 
by those oracles of wisdom who had been appointed by Minos 
to preserve the laws from violation, and to administer justice 
to the people. But into this assembly were admitted those 
only who had contended in the games. The sages opened the 
book into which all the laws of Minos had been collected. I 
was touched with reverence and humility when I approached 
these fathers of their country, whom age had rendered vener- 
able without impairing their vigor of mind. They sat, with 
great order and solemnity, in a fixed posture ; their hair was 
white as snow, but some of them had scarce any left ; and 
their countenances, though grave, were brightened with a 
calm and placid sagacity. They were not forward to speak, 
and they said nothing that was not the result of mature 
deliberation. When their opinions were different, the}^ sup- 
ported them with so much candor and moderation that it 
could scarcely be believed that they were not of one mind. By 
long experience and close application they had acquired the 
most acute discernment and extensive knowledge ; but that 
which principally conduced to the strength and rectitude of 
their judgment was the sedate, dispassionate tranquillity of 
minds that had been long freed from the tumultuous passions 
and capricious levit}" of youth. Wisdom alone was their prin- 
ciple of action ; and by the long and habitual practice of virtue 
they had so corrected every irregular disposition that they had 
tasted the calm yet elevated delights of reason without alloy. 



92 FJ^NELON 

To these awful beings I lifted up my eyes with admiration, 
and wished that by a sudden contraction of my life I might 
immediately arrive at so desirable an old age ; for I perceived 
youth to be a state of infelicity, subject to the blind impetuosity 
of passion, and far from the perspicacious tranquillity of their 
virtue. 

" The person who presided in this assembly opened the 
book into which the laws of Minos had been collected. It was 
a large volume, and was kept locked, with the richest per- 
fumes, in a golden box. When it was taken out, all the sages 
kissed it with a profound respect, and said that, the gods only 
excepted (from whom all good is originally derived), nothing 
should be held so sacred as those laws which promote wisdom, 
virtue, and happiness. Those who put these laws into execu- 
tion for the government of others should also by these laws 
govern themselves ; for it is the law that ought to reign, and 
not the man. Such were the sentiments of this hoary council ; 
and the president then proposed three questions, which were 
to be resolved by the maxims of Minos. 

''The first question was, — ' What man is most free ? ' One 
answered that it was a King who governed his people with 
absolute authority, and had triumphed over all his enemies. 
Another said that it was he whose riches enabled him to pur- 
chase whatever he desired. In the opinion of some it was a 
man who had never married, and who was perpetually travel- 
ing from one country to another, without subjecting himself to 
the laws of any. Others supposed it might be a savage, who, 
living wild in the woods and subsisting by hunting, was mde- 
pendent of all society, and suffered no want as an individual. 
Others thought of a slave immediately after emancipation, 
because, being just relieved from the severities of servitude, 
he would have a more lively sense of the sweets of freedom. 
And there were some who said that a man at the point of 
death was more free than all others, because death breaks 
every bond, and over the dead the united world has no power. 

" When my opinion was demanded, I was in no doubt what to 



tjSlj^maque and mentor 93 

answer, because I remembered what had been often told me by- 
Mentor. 'The most free of all men,' said I, 'is he whose 
freedom slavery itself cannot take away. He, and he only, is 
free in every country and in every condition, who fears the 
gods, and whose fear has no other object. In other words, he 
only is truly free, over whom fear and desire have no power, 
and who is subject only to reason and the gods. ' The fathers 
looked upon each other with a smile, and were surprised to 
find my answer exactly the same with that of Minos. 

' ' The second question was, ' Who is most unhappy ? ' To 
this every one gave such an answer as was suggested by 
his fancy. One said that the most unhappy man was he 
who was without money, health, or reputation. Another said 
it was he who had no friend. Some imagined none could 
be so wretched as those who had degenerate and ungrateful 
children. But a native of Lesbos, a man celebrated for his 
wisdom, said that the most unhappy of all men was he that 
thought himself so ; because unhappiness depends much less 
upon adversity than upon impatience, and unfortunate events 
derive all their power to afflict from the minds of those to 
whom they happen. The assembly heard this opinion with a 
shout of applause, and every one believed that in this ques- 
tion the Lesbian would be declared victor. My opinion being 
asked, I formed my answer upon the maxims of Mentor. 
'The most unhappy of all men,' said I, 'is a King who be- 
lieves he will become happy by rendering others miserable. 
His wretchedness is doubled by his ignorance ; for, as he does 
not know whence it proceeds, he can apply no remedy ; he is, 
indeed, afraid to know, and he suffers a crowd of sycophants 
to surround him, that keep truth at a distance ; he is a slave 
to his own passions, and an utter stranger to his duty ; he has 
never tasted the pleasure of doing good, nor been warmed to 
sensibility by the charms of virtue ; he is wretched, but the 
wretchedness that he suffers he deserves ; and his misery, how- 
ever great, is perpetually increasing. He rushes down the 
precipice of perdition, and the gulf of everlasting punishment 



94 FENELON 

receives him.' The assembly attested my victory over the 
Lesbian, and the judges declared that I had expressed the 
sense of Minos. 

" The third question was, — ' Which of the two ought to be 
preferred, — a king who is invincible in war, or a King who, 
without any experience in war, can administer civil government 
with great wisdom in a time of peace ? ' 

''The majority determined this question in favor of the 
warrior ; ' for skill to govern in a time of peace, ' said they, 
' will be of little use if the King cannot defend his country in 
a time of war, since he will himself be divested of his authority, 
and his people will become slaves to the enemy.' Others pre- 
ferred the pacific Prince, because, as he would have more to fear 
from a war, he would be more careful to avoid one. But they 
were answered that the achievements of a conqueror would in- 
crease not only his own glory, but the glory of his people, to 
whom he would subjugate many nations ; while under a pacific 
government quiet and security would degenerate into coward- 
ice and sloth. My sentiments were then asked, and I ansAvered 
thus : ' Although he who can govern only in peace or only in 
war is but half a King, yet the Prince who by his sagacity can 
discover the merit of others, and can defend his country (when 
it is attacked), if not in person, yet by his generals, is in my 
opinion to be preferred before him who knows no art but that 
of war. A Prince whose genius is entirely military will levy 
endless wars to extend his dominions, and ruin his people to 
add a new title to his name. If the nation which he now 
governs is unhappy, what is it to them how many more he 
conquers ! A foreign war, long continued, cannot fail of pro- 
ducing disorder at home ; the manners of the victors themselves 
become corrupt during the general convulsion. How much has 
Greece suffered by the conquest of Troy. She was more than 
ten years deprived of her kings ; and wherever the flame of 
war is kindled, the laws are violated with impunity, agricul- 
ture is neglected, and the sciences are forgotten. The best 
Prince, when he has a war to sustain, is compelled to the same 



T^Ll^MAQUE AND MENTOR 95 

conduct which disgraces the worst, to tolerate licentiousness, 
and employ villainy in his service. How many daring profli- 
gates are punished in a time of peace, whom it is necessary to 
reward during the disorders of war ! No nation was ever gov- 
erned by a conqueror that did not suffer by his ambition. 

'' As to the pacilic Prince, it must be confessed, indeed, that 
he is not qualified for conquest ; or, in other words, he is not 
born to harass his people by perpetual hostilities, in a restless 
attempt to subjugate others, over whom he can have no equita- 
ble right ; but if he is perfectly qualified for peaceful govern- 
ment, these very qualifications will secure his subjects against 
the encroachments of an enemy. His justice, moderation, and 
quietness render him a good neighbor ; he engages in no enter- 
prise that can interrupt the peace subsisting between him and 
other states ; and he fulfills all his engagements with a reli- 
gious exactness. He is therefore regarded by his allies rather 
with love than with fear, and they trust him with unlimited 
confidence. If any restless, haughty, and ambitious power 
should molest him, all the neighboring princes will interpose 
in his behalf, because from him they apprehend no attempt 
against their own quiet, but have everything to fear from his 
enemy. His steady justice, impartiality, and public faith 
render him the arbiter of all the kingdoms that surround his 
own ; and while the enterprises of ambition make the warrior 
odious, and the common danger unites the world against him, 
a glory superior to that of conquest comes unlooked for to the 
friend of peace, on whom the eyes of every other potentate are 
turned with reverence and affection, as the father and the guar- 
dian of them all. These are his advantages abroad ; and those 
at home are yet more considerable. If he is qualified to gov- 
ern in peace, it follows that he must govern by the wisest laws; 
he must restrain parade and luxury ; he must suppress every 
art which can only gratify vice, and he must encourage those 
which supply the necessities of life, especially agriculture, to 
which the principal attention of his people must be turned. 
Thus will the pacific Prince be sustained, when his danger is 



96 f:^nelon 

most imminent ; and therefore I conclude that, though his 
ignorance in the art of war is an imperfection in his character, 
since it disables him from executing one of the principal duties 
of his station, the chastisement of those who invade his domin- 
ion or injure his people, — yet he is infinitely superior to a King 
who is wholly unacquainted with civil government, and knows 
no art but the art of war.' ^ 

' ' I perceived, but without wonder, that many persons in 
the assembly did not approve the opinion that I had been 
laboring to maintain ; for the greater part of mankind, dazzled 
by the false luster of victories and triumphs, prefer the tumult 
and show of successful hostilities to the quiet simplicity of 
peace and the intrinsic advantages of good government. The 
judges, however, declared, that I had spoken the sentiments 
of Minos ; and the president cried out : 

"'The oracle of Apollo, known to all Crete, is fulfilled. 
Minos inquired of the god how long his posterity should 
govern by the laws which he had established ; and he was 
answered, — ''Thy posterity shall cease to reign when a 
stranger shall establish the reign of thy laws." We feared 
that some foreigner would make a conquest of our island ; but 
the misfortunes of Idomeneus, and the wisdom of the son of 
Ulysses, who of all mortals best understands the laws of 
Minos, have disclosed the true sense of the oracle. Why, 
then, do we delay to crown him whom the gods have appointed 
to be our King?' 

" The sages immediately went -out of the consecrated grove ; 
and the chief of them, taking me by the hand, declared to the 
people, who were waiting impatiently for the decision, that 

1 It is interesting to reflect upon what might have been the benefit to France 
and to Europe of a king trained by such lessons as these, to rule in righteousness 
and to seek the happiness of all classes of his subjects. Great was the misfortune 
of the French to lose such a Prince as the pupil of Fenelon, and at such a time 
as that in which he died. The love of military glory and of conquest was the 
ruling passion of Louis XIV. The resulting ruin .of his kingdom brought on the 
French Revolution (in the time of Louis XVI.), which only the wisest statesman- 
ship could have averted. 



TJ^LJ^MAQUE AND MENTOR 97 

the prize had been decreed to me. The words were no sooner 
uttered than the dead silence of expectation was followed by 
an universal shout. Every one cried out, 

' ' ' Let the son of Ulysses, a second Minos, be our King ! ' 

''And the echoes of the neighboring mountain repeated the 
acclamation. 

' ' I waited a few moments, and then made a sign with m}- 
hand that I desired to be heard. In this interval Mentor 
whispered me, — 

' ' ' Wilt thou renounce thy country ? Can ambition obliterate 
the remembrance of Penelope, who longs for thy return as the 
last object of her hope, and alienate thy heart from the great 
Ulysses whom the gods have resolved to restore to Ithaca ? ' — 

''These words roused every tender passion in my bosom; 
and the fond desire of royalty was instantly absorbed in the 
love of my parents and my country. In the meantime the 
multitude were again become motionless and silent, and I 
addressed them in these terms : 

' ' ' Illustrious Cretans, — I am not worthy the dignity which 
you offer. The oracle of which you have been reminded does, 
indeed, express that the sovereignty of Crete shall depart from 
the race of Minos when a stranger shall establish the dominion 
of his laws ; but it does not say that this stranger shall be 
king. I am willing to believe that I am the stranger foretold 
by the oracle, and that I have accomplished the prediction. 
Fortune has cast me upon this island. I have discovered the 
true sense of the laws of Minos, and I wish that my explana- 
tion may contribute to join them in the sovereignty with the 
man whom your choice shall appoint to so important a trust. 
As for me, I prefer my country, the obscure and inconsiderable 
island of Ithaca, to the hundred cities of Crete, with all their 
opulence and glory. Permit me, therefore, to wander wher- 
ever the Fates shall have marked my course. If I have con- 
tended in your sports, I was not prompted by a desire to 
govern you, but only to win your esteem and your pity, that 
you might the more readily afford me the means of returning 

8CH. IN COM. — 7 



98 FENELON 

to the place of my birth ; for I would rather obey my father 
Ulysses, and comfort Penelope, my mother, than govern all the 
nations upon the earth. You see, O Cretans, the secret recesses 
of my heart. I am compelled to leave you ; but death only can 
put an end to my gratitude. Your interest shall never be less 
dear to me than my own honor ; and I will remember you with 
affection till death shall efface the last idea from my mind ! ' " 
******** 

Tel^maque often interrupted Mentor d^uring his admonitions. 

" Why," said he, " should we not continue on this island ? 
Ulysses is no longer a sojourner upon the earth ; he has without 
doubt been long buried in the deep ; and Penelope, after wait- 
ing in vain not only for his return but for mine, must have 
yielded to the importunities of some fortunate suitor among 
the number that surrounded her ; especially as it can scarce be 
supposed but that her father, Icarus, must have exerted his 
paternal authority to oblige her to accept another husband. 
For what, then, can I returji to Ithaca but to see her disgraced 
by a new alliance, and to be a witness to the violation of that 
troth which she plighted to my father ? And if Penelope has 
thus forgotten Ulysses, it cannot be thought that he is remem- 
bered by the people. And neither, indeed, can we hope to get 
alive into the island ; for her suitors will certainly have placed 
at every port a band of ruf&ans, sufficient to cut us off at our 
return." 

" All that you have said," replied Mentor, " is only another 
proof that you are under the influence of a foolish and fatal pas- 
sion. You labor with great subtlety to find every argument 
that can favor it, and to avoid all those by which it would be 
condemned ; you are ingenious only to deceive yourself, and to 
secure forbidden pleasures from the intrusion of remorse. Have 
you forgotten that the gods themselves have interposed to favor 
your return ? Was not your escape from Sicily supernatural ? 
Were not the misfortunes that you suffered in Egypt converted 
into sudden and unexpected prosperity ? And were not the dan- 
gers which threatened you in Tyre averted by an invisible hand ? 



t^ljSmaque and mentor 99 

Is it possible that, after so many miracles, you should still 
doubt to what end you have been preserved ? But why do I 
remonstrate ? Of the good fortune which was designed for 
thee, thou art unworthy ! As for myself, I make no doubt but 
I shall find means to quit this island ; and if here thou art deter- 
mined to stay, here I am determined to leave thee. In this 
place let the degenerate son of the great Ulysses hide himself 
among women, in the shameful obscurity of voluptuousness and 
sloth, and stoop, even in spite of Heaven, to that which his 
father disdained." 

This reproach, so forcible and so keen, pierced T^lemaque to 
the heart. He was melted with tenderness and grief ; but his 
grief was mingled with shame, and his shame with fear. He 
dreaded the resentment of Mentor, and the loss of that com- 
panion to whose sagacity and kindness he was so much indebted. 
But at the same time the passion which had taken possession of 
his breast, and to which he was himself a stranger, made him 
still tenacious of his purpose. 

'' What ! " said he to Mentor, with tears in his eyes, " do you 
reckon as nothing that immortality which I may now share with 
Calypso ? " 

" I hold as nothing," replied Mentor, " all that is contrary to 
the dictates of virtue, and to the commands of Heaven. Virtue 
now calls you back to your country, to Ulysses, and to Penel- 
ope. Virtue forbids you to give up your heart to an unworthy 
passion ; and the gods, who have delivered you from so many 
dangers that your name might not be less illustrious than that 
of Ulysses, command you to quit this island, where only the 
tyranny of love could detain you — a tyranny which to resist 
is to subdue, and which therefore it is infamous to suffer. Im- 
mortality ! alas, what is immortality Avithout liberty, without 
virtue, and without honor ? Is it not a state of misery with- 
out hope, still more deplorable in that it can never end ? " 

To this expostulation T^ldmaque replied only by sighs. 
Sometimes he almost wished that Mentor would force him from 
the island, in spite of himself. Sometimes he weis impatient to 



100 F^NELQN 

be left behind, that he might be at liberty to gratify his wishes 
without fearing to be reproached for his weakness. A thousand 
different wishes and desires maintained a perpetual conflict in 
his breast, and were predominant by turns. His mind, there- 
fore, was in a state of tumult and fluctuation, like the sea, when 
it is at once urged by different winds of equal force. ' Some- 
times he threw himself on the ground near the sea, and remained 
a long time extended motionless on the beach. Sometimes he 
hid himself within the gloomy recesses of a wood. 

Mentor, who perceived that T^lemaque was relapsing into all 
his follies, knew that not a moment was to be lost. He saw a 
vessel lying at anchor at a distance, which did not approach the 
shore, because it was well known to all pilots that the island of 
Calypso was inaccessible. This wise guardian of inexperienced 
youth thereupon suddenly pushed Telemaque from the top of 
the rock into the sea, and instantly leaped after him. T^l^- 
maque, who was at first stunned by the fall, drank of the briny 
wave, aild became the sport of the surge. But at length recov- 
ering from his astonishment, and seeing Mentor, who had 
stretched out his hand to assist him in swimming, he thought 
only how to leave the island at a distance. 

The nymphs, who before imagined that they had secured 
their captives, uttered a dreadful cry when they saw them 
escape. Calypso, again overwhelmed with despair, retired to 
her grotto, which she filled with unavailing complaints. 

Tdl^maque felt, with pleasure, that his fortitude and his love 
of virtue revived as his distance from the fatal island of Calypso 
increased. 

" I now experience," said he to Mentor, " what you have told 
me, — but what, if I had not experienced, I could never have 
believed. Vice can be conquered only by flight. My father, 
how dear a testimony have the gods given me of their love by 
granting me the guidance and protection of thy wisdom ! I 
deserve, indeed, to be deprived of both ; I deserved to be aban- 
doned to my own folly. I now fear neither seas nor winds ; I 
apprehend danger only from my passions," 



JONATHAN SWIFT 

THE GREAT IRISH DEAN 

The life of Jonathan Swift seems rather a romance than a biography. 
Though he lived for many years in the glare of public life, there is a deep 
mystery which sleeps with him in the tomb, and which probably will never 
be revealed. The same mystery enshrouds two remarkable women, whose 
fate was interwoven with his own, — the Stella and Vanessa of literary 
history. The lapse of time seems to abate little of the interest which in all 
the English-speaking world attaches to this famous trio. 

In the year of the last English revolution, 1688, there came to Moor 
Park, the home of Sir William Temple, near London, England, a scholar of 
twenty-one years, in search of employment. The master of the house, an 
author of some repute, who had known the young man's mother in former 
years, and was a distant relative, engaged him as an amanuensis. Swift, 
the newcomer, proved a haughty and troublesome assistant, wholly devoid 
of gratitude to his benefactor. In a fit of rage he left the Park, but soon 
returned to his work. This time he found in Sir William's household 
another dependent, Esther Johnson, who had come with her mother to seek 
protection. A close intimacy sprang up between Swift and the beautiful 
girl, to whom he became " tutor, mentor, lover," and to whom he gave the 
poetic name of Stella. 

Sir William died, and the young man was not enriched by his legacy, 
though Esther was generously remembered. Swift now removed to L-eland, 
and accepted the vicarage of an English church at Laracor, near Dublin, 
his native city. Esther, who at the age of eighteen was a favorite in the 
gay world of London, abandoned home, mother, and friends — all but a 
Mrs. Dingley, who was attached to her service — to rejoin Swift at Laracor, 
and to live m retirement in his humble parsonage. 

Swift had already gained notoriety by an able pamphlet entitled The 
Battle of the Books — the name referring to a contest of opinions as to the 
relative merits of ancient and modern literature. Though a minister, he 
did not hesitate now to publish (anonymously) a satire on religious subjects, 
entitled The Tale of a Tub. " It treated of the most sacred themes with 
coarse ribaldry and painful familiarity. It was more shocking to a delicate 

101 



102 JONATHAN SWIFT 

taste than the barbaric wit of Rabelais and the keen levity of Lucian. Yet 
its rare originality, its biting satire, the profusion of its learning, the endless 
variety of its wit, and that clear and simple style, the result of long years 
of labor, in which the writer's mind, with all its fertile novelty, seemed to 
blend with that of his reader, made The Tale of a Tub the most remarkable 
book of the day." 

Going to London in 1710, on some matter of Church business, Swift 
became suddenly caught in the swirl of politics. He had been a Whig, but 
immediately changed his political faith when, through a successful intrigue, 
the Tories came into power for a brief time. Almost instantly he rose to 
be a chief factor in the angry controversies which followed; and his 
political pamphlets were marvels of detraction and invective. He became 
also a lion of society, and the boon companion of courtiers and adventurers. 

In London Swift became acquainted with a young lady of fashion named 
Esther Yanhomrigli, to whom he paid marked attentions. In a later poem, 
Cadenus and Vanessa, he represents her as declaring her passion for him — 
for Cadenus is evidently an anagram of decanus, the Latin word for dean, 
and to the deanery of St. Patrick's Cathedral, in Dublin, he had risen from 
his vicarage. Swift seems to have reciprocated her affection, or at least to 
have caused her to believe that he did. 

On the death of Queen Anne, in 1713, the AYhigs returned to power, and 
Swift returned to Ireland, resuming his old association with " Stella," at 
Dublin. " Yanessa," soon after, was left an orphan and removed likewise 
to Ireland, with her sister ias her only companion. At Morley Abbey she 
led a lonely life, which was brightened only by occasional visits of Swift. 
The proud, defeated politician, who could see no hope for further advance- 
ment under the Whigs, became more than ever embittered, until at last he 
seemed to cherish a hatred for all men. He refused to acknowledge 
" Stella " as his wife, though it is believed that they went through a secret 
and meaningless form of marriage. 

" Yanessa," after long and faithful waiting for the word of her tardy 
lover, learned in some way of his duplicity, and died of a broken heart. 
*' Stella," declining with secret anguish, was cruelly sent forth to die among 
strangers, but was buried (at midnight) in the Cathedral. Faithful to the 
promise extorted from her (as is believed), she did not reveal her marriage, 
even in her will, but therein described herself as a spinster. It has been 
doubted if the marriage ever really occurred. Certain it is that, soon after 
the alleged wedding, a friend of Swift. Dr. Delaney, met the Dean coming 
from the palace of the Archbishop of Dublm, and was surprised to see him 
apparently crazed. Swift did not even recognize his friend. Dr. Delaney 
found the Archbishop in tears, and inquired the reason. The prelate 
replied, '*' You have just met the most unhappy man on earth; but of the 
cause of his wretchedness you must never ask a question." 



THE ACADEMY AT LAG ADO 103 

It has been held that Swift's equivocal treatment of " Stella" arose from the 
fact that he had ascertained in some way that she was his illegitimate sister. 
Some insist that his double life was the life of a madman. Were not the 
names of " Stella " and " Vanessa " set in enduring literature, their unhappy 
fate had been long since forgotten. But the works of Swift are likely to 
last for ages to come ; as long as his Letters to Stella and his references to 
Vanessa shall be read, the world will continue to speculate upon his inex- 
plicable conduct, by which were cruelly wrecked two innocent lives. 

The greatest work of the Irish Dean was published in 1726. It is entitled 
Gulliver's Travels, and is unlike anything else in English letters. It is the 
product of a mind that delighted in viewing the imperfections of men. It 
is written in a style so simple that it is the delight of children ; but through 
it all there is a hidden meaning, a satire on individuals and on the mass of 
mankmd. The author's misanthropy grew with each succeeding chapter, 
until it reached a degree of hatred and bitterness that seemed insane. The 
work achieved a wonderful celebrity, which it has ever since held ; and it is 
to-day a familiar book in all parts of the English-speaking world. 

Swift was idolized by the Irish, whose interests he advocated. They 
needed such an advocate — a man with nothing to lose, and with the energy 
of wrecked ambition and of hatred for their opponents. 

" His fame ever increased," says Eugene Lawrence. " His wit filled the 
world with laughter ; his power in Ireland was almost despotic. Yet no 
moment of happiness or of peace ever came to his troubled spirit. He 
always declared that he was weary of life, ready for death. His common 
parting words were, ' May we never meet again ! ' His mind at last was 
lost in silent idiocy." 

Swift died in Dublin, in 1745, and was buried by the side of " Stella," in 
the Cathedral of St. Paul's. About a quarter-century ago then- graves were 
opened and their remains examined ; but no clue was found to the mystery 
of their lives. 



THE ACADEMY AT LAGADO 

(From Gulliver's Travels) 

The word which I interpret the flying or floating island is, 
in the original, Laputa^ whereof I could never learn the true 
etymology. Lap^ in the old, obsolete language, signifies high; 
and untuh, a governor ; from which, they say, by corruption 
was derived Laputa from Lapuntuh. But I do not approve of 



104 JONATHAN SWIFT 

this derivation, which seems to be a little strained. I ventured 
to offer to the learned among them a conjecture of my own, 
that Laputa was quasi lap oitted ; lap signifying, properly, the 
dancing of the sunbeams in the sea, and outed, a wing ; which, 
however, I shall not obtrude, but submit to the judicious 
reader. 1 

Those to whom the King had intrusted me, observing how 
ill I was clad, ordered a tailor to come, next morning, and take 
measure for a suit of clothes. This operator did his office 
after a different manner from those of his trade in Europe. 
He first took my altitude by a quadrant, and then, with rule 
and compasses, described the dimensions and outlines of my 
whole body, all which he entered upon paper ; and in six days 
brought my clothes, very ill-made, and quite out of shape, by 
happening to mistake a figure in the calculation. But my com- 
fort was that I observed that such accidents were very fre- 
quent, and little regarded. 

During my confinement for want of clothes, and by an in- 
disposition that held me some days longer, I much enlarged 
my dictionary ; and when I next went to court, was able to 
understand many things the King spoke, and to return him 
some kind of answers. His Majesty had given orders that the 
island should move north-east-and-by-east to the vertical point 
over Laga'do, the metropolis of the whole kingdom below, upon 
the firm earth. It was about ninety leagues distant, and our 
voyage lasted four days and a half. I was not in the least 
sensible of the progressive motion made in the air by the 
island. On the second morning, about eleven o'clock, the 
King himself in person, attended by his nobility, courtiers, and 
officers, having prepared all their musical instruments, played 
on them for three hours without intermission, so that I was 



1 Many teachers and critics have been misled by illusive etymologies. This 
paragraph is a satire upon the strained theories which have been urged in sup- 
port of exceedingly improbable etymologies of names. It may remind the reader 
of some of the explanations which have been offered as to the origin of some 
American names and sobriquets, such as Manhattan, Arkansas, Hoosier, etc. 



THE ACADEMY AT LAGADO 105 

quite stunned with the noise ; neither could I possibly guess 
the meaning, till my tutor informed me. He said that the 
people of their island had their ears adapted to hear the music 
of the spheres, which always played at certain periods, and the 
court was now prepared to bear their part, in whatever instru- 
ment they most excelled. 

In our journey towards Lagado, the capital city. His Majesty 
ordered that the island should stop over certain towns and 
villages, from whence he might receive the petitions of his sub- 
jects. And to this purpose several packthreads were let down, 
with small weights at the bottom. On these packthreads the 
people strung their petitions, which mounted up directly, like 
the scraps of paper fastened by schoolboys at the end of the 
string that holds their kite. Sometimes we received wine and 
victuals from below, which were drawn up by pulleys. 

The knowledge I had in mathematics gave me great assist- 
ance in acquiring their phraseology, which depended much 
upon that science and music ; and in the latter I w^as not un- 
skilled. Their ideas are perpetually conversant in lines and 
figures. If, for example, they would praise the beauty of a 
woman or any other animal, they describe it by rhombs, cir- 
cles, parallelograms, ellipses and other geometrical terms, or by 
words of art drawn from music, needless here to repeat. I 
observed in the King's kitchen all sorts of inathematical and 
musical instruments, after the figures of whicli they cut up the 
joints that were served to His Majesty's table. 

Their houses are very ill-built; the walls bevel, without one 
right angle in any apartment, and this defect arises from the 
contempt they bear to practical geometry, which they despise 
as vulgar and mechanic; those instructions they give being too 
refined for the intellects of their workmen, which occasions 
perpetual mistakes. And although they are dexterous enough 
upon a piece of paper, in the management of the rule, the 
pencil, and the divider, yet in the common actions and behavior 
of life I have not seen a more clumsy, awkward, and unhandy 
people, nor so slow and perplexed in their conceptions upon all 



106 JONATHAN SWIFT 

other subjects except those of mathematics and music. They 
are very bad reasoners, and vehemently given to opposition, 
unless when they happen to be of the right opinion, which is 
seldom their case. Imagination, fancy, and invention they are 
wholly strangers to, nor have any words in their language by 
which those ideas can be expressed, the whole compass of their 
thoughts and mind being shut up within the two forementioned 
sciences. 

Most of them, and especially those who deal in the astronom- 
ical part, have great faith in judicial astrology, although they 
are ashamed to own it publicly. But what 1 chiefly admired, 
and thought altogether unaccountable, was the strong disposi- 
tion I observed in them towards news and politics, perpetually 
inquiring into public affairs, giving their judgments in matters 
of state, and passionately disputing every inch of a party opin- 
ion. I have, indeed, observed the same disposition among most 
of the mathematicians I have known in Europe, although I 
could never discover the least analogy between the two sciences, 
unless those people suppose that because the smallest circle has 
as many degrees as the largest, therefore the regulation and 
management of the world require no more abilities than the 
handling and turning of a globe. But I rather take this quality 
to spring from a very common infirmity of human nature, in- 
clining us to be most curious and conceited in matters where 
we have least concern, and for which we are least adapted by 
study or nature. 

These people are under continual disquietudes, never enjoy- 
ing a minute's peace of mind; and their disturbances proceed 
from causes which very little affect the rest of mortals. Their 
apprehensions arise from several changes they dread in the 
celestial bodies. For instance, that the earth, by the continual 
approaches of the sun towards it, must in course of time be 
absorbed or swallowed up. That the face of the sun will by 
degrees be encrusted with its own effluvia, and give no more 
light to the world. That the earth very narrowly escaped a 
brush from the tail of the last comet, which would have infalli- 



THE ACADEMY AT LAGADO 107 

bly reduced it to ashes; and that the next, which they have 
calcuhxted for one-and-thirty years hence, will probably destroy 
us. For if in its perihelion it should approach within a certain 
degree of the sun (as by their calculations they have reason to 
dread), it will receive a degree of heat ten thousand times more 
intense than that of red-hot, glowing iron; and in its absence 
from the sun, carrying a blazing tail ten hundred thousand and 
fourteen miles long, through which if the earth should pass at 
the distance of one hundred thousand miles from the nucleus, 
or main body of the comet, it must in its passage be set on fire, 
and reduced to ashes. And the sun, daily spending its rays 
without any nutriment to supply them, will at last be wholly 
consumed and annihilated; which must be attended with the 
destruction of this earth, and of all the planets that receive 
their light from it. 

They are so perpetually alarmed with the apprehensions of 
these and the like impending dangers that they can neither 
sleep quietly in their beds nor have any relish for the common 
pleasures and amusements of life. When they meet an acquaint- 
ance in the morning, the first question is about the sun's health, 
how he looked at his setting and rising, and what hopes they 
have to avoid the stroke of the approaching comet. This con- 
versation they are apt to run into with the same temper that 
boys discover in delighting to hear terrible stories of spirits 
and hobgoblins, which they greedily listen to, and dare not go 
to bed for fear. 



They spend the greatest part of their lives in observing the 
celestial bodies, which they do by the assistance of glasses, far 
excelling ours in goodness. For, although their largest tele- 
scopes do not exceed three feet, they magnify much more than 
those of a hundred with us, and show the stars with greater 
clearness. This advantage has enabled them to extend their 
discoveries much farther than our astronomers in Europe ; 
for they have made a catalogue of ten thousand fixed stars, 



108 JONATHAN SWIFT 

whereas the largest of ours do not contain above one third part 
of that number. They have likewise discovered two lesser stars, 
or satellites, which revolve about Mars ; ^ whereof the inner- 
most is distant from the center of the primary planet exactly 
three of his diameters, and the outermost, five. The former 
revolves in the space of ten hours, and the latter in twenty- 
one and a half ; so that the squares of their periodical times 
are very near in the same proportion with the cubes of their 
distance from the center of Mars ; which evidently shows them 
to be governed by the same law of gravitation that influences 
the other heavenly bodies. 

They have observed ninety-three different comets, and set- 
tled their periods with great exactness. If this be true (and 
they affirm it with great confidence), it is much to be wished 
that their observations were made public, whereby the theory 
of comets, which at present is very lame and defective, might 
be brought to the same perfection with other parts of astronomy. 



Although I cannot say that I was ill treated in this island, 
yet I must confess I thought myself too much neglected, not 
without some degree of contempt ; for neither Prince nor 
people appeared to be curious in any part of knowledge except 
mathematics and music, wherein I was far their inferior, and 
upon that account very little regarded. 

On the other side, after having seen all the curiosities of the 
island, I was very desirous to leave it, being heartily weary of 
those people. They were indeed excellent in two sciences for 
which I have great esteem, and wherein I am not unversed ; 
but at the same time so abstracted and involved in speculation 
that I never met with such disagreeable companions. I con- 



1 This is one of the most remarkable statements in all fiction. In Swift's age, 
and in all time previous to the year 1877, Mars was supposed to be unattended 
by satellites. In the year named, Professor Hall, an American astronomer, dis- 
covered two small moons revolving about Mars. These correspond very closely 
to the description given by Swift. 



THE ACADEMY AT LAG ABO 109 

versed only with women, tradesmen, flappers, and court-pages, 
during two months of my abode there ; by which at last I 
rendered myself extremely contemptible, yet these were the 
only people from whom I could ever receive a reasonable 
answer. 

I had obtained, by hard study, a good degree of knowledge 
in their language ; I was weary of being confined to an island 
where I received so little countenance, and resolved to leave it 
with the first opportunity. 

There was a great Lord at court, nearly related to the King, 
and for that reason alone used with respect. He was univer- 
sally reckoned the most ignorant and stupid person among 
them. He had performed many eminent services for the Crown, 
had great natural and acquired parts, adorned with integrity 
and honor ; but so ill an ear for music that his detractors re- 
ported he had been often known to beat time in the wrong 
place ; neither could his tutors without extreme difficulty 
teach him to demonstrate the most easy proposition in the 
mathematics. He was pleased to show me many marks of 
favor, often did me the honor of a visit, desired to be informed 
in the affairs of Europe, the laws and customs, the manners 
and learning of the several countries where I had traveled. 
He listened to me with great attention, and made very wise 
observations on all I spoke. He had two flappers attending 
him for state, but never made use of them except at court and 
in visits of ceremony, and would always command them to 
withdraw when we were alone together. 

I entreated this illustrious person to intercede in my behalf 
with His Majesty for leave to depart, which he accordingly 
did, as he was pleased to tell me, with regret ; for indeed 
he had made me several very advantageous offers, which, how- 
ever, I refused, with expressions of the highest acknowledg- 
ment. 

On the 16th of February I took leave of His Majesty and the 
court. The King made me a present to the value of two 
hundred pounds English; and my protector, his kinsman, as 



110 JONATHAN SWIFT 

much more, together with a letter of recommendation to a 
friend of his in Lagado, the metropolis. The island being then 
hovering over a mountain about two miles from it, I was let 
down from the lowest gallery, in the same manner as I had 
been taken up. 

The continent, as far as it is subject to the monarch of the 
flying island, passes under the general name of Balnihar'hi ; 
and the metropolis, as I said before, is called Lagado. I felt 
some little satisfaction in finding myself on firm ground. I 
walked to the city without any concern, being clad like one of 
the natives, and sufficiently instructed to converse with them. 
I soon found out the person's house to whom I was recom- 
mended, presented my letter from his friend, the grandee in 
the island, and was received with much kindness. This great 
Lord, Avhose name was Munodi, ordered me an apartment in 
his own house, where I continued during my stay, and was 
entertained in a most hospitable manner. 

The next morning after my arrival he took me in his chariot 
to see the town, which is about half the bigness of London ; 
but the houses are very strangely built, and most of them out 
of repair. The people in the streets walked fast, looked wild, 
their eyes fixed, and were generally in rags. We passed 
through one of the town gates, and went about three miles 
into the country, where I saw many laborers working with 
several sorts of tools in the ground, but was not able to 
conjecture what they were about ; neither did I observe 
any expectation either of corn" or grass, although the soil 
appeared to be excellent. I could not forbear admiring at 
these odd appearances, both in town and country ; and I 
made bold to desire my conductor that he would be pleased to 
explain to me what could be meant by so many busy heads, 
hands, and faces, both in the streets and the fields, because I 
did not discover any good effects they produced, but, on the 
contrary, I never kncAV a soil so unhappily cultivated, houses 
so ill-contrived and so ruinous, or a people whose countenances 
and habits expressed so much misery and want. 



THE ACADEMY AT LAG ADO 111 

This Lord Munodi was a person of the first rank, and had 
been some years governor of Lagado ; but, by a cabal of min- 
isters, was discharged for insufficiency. However, the King 
treated him with tenderness, as a well-meaning man, but of 
a low, contemptible understanding. 

When I gave that free censure of the country and its inhab- 
itants, he made no farther answer than by telling me that I had 
not been long enough among them to form a judgment, and 
that the different nations of the world had different customs, 
with other common topics to the same purpose. But when we 
returned to his palace he asked me how I liked the building, 
what absurdities I observed, and what quarrel I had with the 
dress or looks of his domestics. This he might safely do, 
because everything about him was magnificent, regular, and 
polite. I answered, that his Excellency's prudence, quality, 
and fortune had exempted him from those defects which folly 
and beggary had produced in others. He said if I would 
go with him to his country house, about twenty miles dis- 
tant, where his estate lay, there would "be more leisure for 
this kind of conversation. I told his Excellency that I was 
entirely at his disposal ; and accordingly we set out next 
morning. 

During our journey he made me observe the several methods 
used by farmers in managing their lands, which to me were 
wholly unaccountable ; for, except in some very few places, I 
could not discover one ear of corn or blade of grass. But in 
three hours' traveling the scene was wholly altered ; we came 
into a most beautiful country ; farmers' houses at small dis- 
tances, neatly built ; the fields inclosed, containing vineyards, 
corn grounds, and meadows. Neither do I remember to have 
seen a more pleasant prospect. His Excellency observed my 
countenance clear up ; he told me, with a sigh, that there 
his estate began, and would continue the same till we should 
come to his house ; that his countrymen ridiculed and despised 
him for managing his affairs no better, and for setting so ill 
an example to the kingdom ; which, however, was followed 



112 JONATHAN SWIFT 

by very few, such as were old and willful and weak, like 
himself.^ 

We came at length to the house, which was indeed a noble 
structure, built according to the best rules of architecture. 
The fountains, gardens, walks, avenues, and groves were all dis- 
posed with exact judgment and taste. I gave due praises to 
everything I saw, whereof his Excellency took not the least 
notice till after supper ; when, there being no third companion, 
he told me, with a very melancholy air, that he doubted he 
must throw down his houses in town and country, to rebuild 
them after the present mode ; destroy all his plantations, and 
cast others into such a form as modern usage required, and 
give the same directions to his tenants, unless he would submit 
to incur the censure of pride, singularity, affectation, ignorance, 
caprice, and perhaps increase His Majesty's displeasure ; that 
the admiration I appeared to be under would cease or diminish 
when he had informed me of some particulars which probably 
I never heard of at court, the people there being too much 
taken up in their own speculations to have regard to what 
passed here below. 

The sum of his discourse was to this effect : that about forty 
years ago, certain persons went up to Laputa, either upon busi- 
ness or diversion, and, after five months' continuance, came 
back with a very little smattering in mathematics, but full of 
volatile spirits acquired in that airy region ; that these persons, 
upon their return, began to dislike the management of every- 
thing below, and fell into schemes of putting all arts, sciences, 
languages, and mechanics upon a new foot. To this end, they 
procured a royal patent for erecting an Academy of Projectors 

1 This clinging to inferior systems has its counterpart in many facts in educa- 
tion. American teachers often find it difficult to awaken any interest in the 
metric system, though it has been adopted by the majority of modern nations. 
For fifty years after the decimal point was invented, it was found difficult to bring 
it into common use. Each decimal was preceded by a large circle, indicating its 
order, the circles being numbered from zero, so that the second was numbered 
one. Thus the familiar number 3.14159 was written, — 

3 ® 1 ® 4 @ 1 (3) 5 (4) 9. 



THE ACADEMY AT LAG ADO 113 

in Lagado ; and the liumor prevailed so strongly among the 
people, that there is not a town of any consequence in the king- 
dom without such an Academy. In these colleges the professors 
contrive new rules and methods of agriculture and building, 
and new instruments and tools for all trades and manufactures ; 
Avhereby, as they undertake, one man shall do the work of ten, 
a palace may be built in a week, of materials so durable as to 
last forever without repairing. All the fruits of the earth shall 
come to a maturity at whatever season we think fit to choose, 
and increase a hundred-fold more than they do at present ; 
with innumerable other happy proposals. The only inconven- 
ience is that none of these projects are yet brought to perfec- 
tion ; and in the meantime, the whole country lies miserably 
waste, the houses in ruins, and the people Avithout food or 
clothes. By all which, instead of being discouraged, they are 
fifty times more violently bent upon prosecuting their schemes, 
driven equally on by hope and despair. That as for himself, 
being not of an enterprising spirit, he was content to go on in 
the old forms, to live in the houses his ancestors had built, and 
act as they did in every part of life, without innovation. That 
some few other persons of quality and gentry had done the 
same, but were looked on with an eye of contempt and ill-will, 
as enemies to art, ignorant and ill commonwealth's men, pre- 
ferring their own ease and sloth before the general improvement 
of their country. 

His Lordship added that he would not, by any further par- 
ticulars, prevent the pleasure I should certainly take in viewing 
the grand Academy, whither he Avas resolved I should go. He 
only desired me to observe a ruined building upon the side of 
a mountain about three miles distant, of which he gave me this 
account : that he had a very convenient mill within half a mile 
of his house, turned by a current from a large river, and suffi- 
cient for his own family, as Avell as a great number of his ten- 
ants. That about seven years ago a club of those projectors 
came to him Avith proposals to destroy this mill and build 
another on the side of that mountain, on the long ridge whereof 

sen. IX COM. — 8 



114 JONATHAN SWIFT 

a long canal must be cut, for a repository of water, to be con- 
veyed up by pipes and engines to supply the mill ; because the 
wind and air upon a height agitated the water, and thereby 
made it fitter for motion ; and because the water, descending 
down a declivity, would turn the mill with half the current of 
a river, whose course is more upon a level. He said that, being 
then not very well with the court, and pressed by many of his 
friends, he complied with the proposal ; and after employing a 
hundred men for two years, the work miscarried; the projectors 
went off, laying the blame entirely upon him, railing at him 
ever since, and putting others upon the same experiment, with 
equal assurance of success, as well as equal disappointment. 

In a few days we came back to town ; and his Excellency, 
considering the bad character he had in the Academy, would 
not go with me himself, but recommended me to a friend of 
his, to bear me company thither. My Lord was pleased to 
represent me as a great admirer of projects, and a person 
of much curiosity, and easy belief ; which indeed was not with- 
out truth, for I had myself been a sort of projector in my 
younger days. 

This Academy is not an entire single building, but a continu- 
ation of several houses on both sides of a street, which, growing 
waste, was purchased and applied to that use. 

I was received very kindly by the warden, and went for 
many days to the Academy. ^ Every room has in it one or 
more projectors, and I believe I could not have been in fewer 
than five hundred rooms. 

The first man I saw was of a meager aspect, with sooty hands 
and face, his hair and beard long, ragged, and singed in several 
places. His clothes, shirt, and skin were all of the same color. 
He had been eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams 
out of cucumbers, which were to be put in phials hermetically 

1 Sir Walter Scott has pointed out the fact that Swift's idea of the Academy 
was borrowed from a chapter of the inexhaustible Rabelais. In the work of the 
great French humorist it was a court, rather than an academy, that was de- 
scribed ; but the absurdities were of the same general nature in both. 



THE ACADEMY AT LAGADO 115 

sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw inclement summers. 
He told me lie did not doubt that in eight years more he should 
be able to supply the Governor's gardens with sunshine at a 
reasonable rate ; but he complained that his stock was low, and 
entreated me to give him something as an encouragement to 
ingenuity, especially since this had been a very dear season 
for cucumbers. I made him a small present, for my Lord had 
furnished me with money on purpose, because he knew their 
practice of begging from all who go to see them. 

I saw another at work to calcine ice into gunpowder ; who 
likewise showed me a treatise he had written concerning the 
malleability of fire, which he intended to publish. 

There was a most ingenious architect, who had contrived a 
new method for building houses by beginning at the roof and 
working downward to the foundation ; which he justified to 
me by the like practice of those two prudent insects, the bee 
and the spider. 

There was a man born blind, who had several apprentices 
in his own condition. Their employment was to mix colors for 
painters, which their master taught them to distinguish by feel- 
ing and smelling. It was, indeed, my misfortune to find them 
at that time not very perfect in their lessons, and the professor 
himself happened to be generally mistaken. This artist is much 
encouraged and esteemed by the whole fraternity. 

In another apartment, I was highly pleased with a projector 
who had found a device of plowing the ground with hogs, to 
save the charges of plows, cattle, and labor. The method is 
this : In an acre of ground, you bury, at six inches distance 
and eight deep, a quantity of acorns, dates, chestnuts, and 
other mast or vegetables, whereof these animals are fondest ; 
then you drive six hundred or more of them into the field, 
where, in a few days, they will root up the whole ground in 
search of their feed, and make it fit for sowing. It is true, 
upon experiment, they found the charge and trouble very great 
and they had little or no crop. However, it is not doubted 
that this invention may be capable of great improvement. 



116 JONATHAN SWIFT 

I Avent into another room, where the walls and ceiling were 
all hung round with cobwebs, except a narrow passage for the 
artist to go in and out. At my entrance he called aloud to 
me, not to disturb his webs. He lamented "the fatal mis- 
take the world had been so long in, of using silkworms, ' ' while 
he had such plenty of domestic insects who infinitely excelled 
the former, because they understood how to weave, as well as 
spin. And he proposed, farther, that by employing spiders, the 
charge of dyeing silks should be wholly saved ; whereof I was 
fully convinced when he showed me a vast number of flies 
most beautifully colored, wherewith he fed his spiders, assur- 
ing us that the webs would take a tincture from them, and as 
he had them of all hues, he hoped to fit everybody's fancy as 
soon as he could find proper food for the flies, of certain gums, 
oils, and other glutinous matter, to give a strength and consist- 
ence to the threads. 

There was an astronomer, who had undertaken to place a 
sundial upon the great weathercock on the town house, by 
adjusting the annual and diurnal motions of the earth and sun, 
so as to answer and coincide with all accidental turnings of 
the wind. 

I visited many other apartments, but shall not trouble my 
reader with all the curiosities I observed, being studious of 
brevity. 

I had hitherto seen only one side of the Academy, the other 
being appropriated to the advancers of speculative learning, of 
whom I shall say something when I have mentioned one illus- 
trious person more, who is called among them "the universal 
artist." He told us he had been thirty years employing his 
thoughts for the improvement of human life. He had two 
large rooms full of wonderful curiosities, and fifty men at work. 
Some were condensing air into a dry tangible substance, by 
extracting the niter and letting the aqueous or fluid particles 
percolate ; others, softening marble for pillows and pin- 
cushions ; others, petrifying the hoofs of a living horse, to 
preserve them from foundering. The artist himself was at 



TBt: ACADEMY AT LAGADO 117 

that time busy upon two great designs ; the first, to sow land' 
with chaff, Avherein he affirmed the true seminal virtue to be 
contained, as he demonstrated by several experiments, which I 
was not skillful enough to comprehend. The other was, by a 
certain composition of gums, minerals, and vegetables out- 
wardly applied, to prevent the growth of wool upon two young 
lambs ; and he hoped, in a reasonable time, to propagate the 
breed of naked sheep all over the kingdom. 

We crossed a walk to the other part of the Academy, where, 
as I have already said, the projectors in speculative learning 
resided. 

The first professor I saw was in a very large room, with 
forty pupils about him. After salutation, observing me to 
look earnestly upon a frame, which took up the greatest part 
of both the length and breadth of the room, he said perhaps I 
might wonder to see him employed in a project for improving 
speculative knowledge by practical and mechanical operations. 
But the world would soon be sensible to its usefulness ; and he 
flattered himself that a more noble, exalted thought never 
sprang into any other man's head. Every one knew how 
laborious the usual method is of attaining to arts and sciences ; 
whereas, by his contrivance, the most ignorant person, at a 
reasonable charge, and with a little bodily labor, might write 
books in philosophy, poetry, politics, laws, mathematics, and 
theology, without the least assistance from genius or study. 
He then led me to the frame, about the sides whereof all his 
pupils stood in ranks. It was twenty feet square, placed in 
the middle of the room. The superficies was composed of 
several bits of wood, about the bigness of a die, but some larger 
than others. They were all linked together by slender wires. 
These bits of wood were covered, on every square, with paper 
pasted on them ; and on these papers were written all the 
words of their language, in their several moods, tenses, and 
declensions ; but without any order. The professor then 
desired me to observe ; for he was going to set his engine at 
work. The pupils, at his command, took each of them hold of 



118 JONATHAN SWIFT 

an iron handle, whereof there were forty fixed round the edges of 
the frame ; and giving them a sudden turn, the whole disposi- 
tion of the words was entirely changed. He then commanded 
six-and-thirty of the lads to read the several lines softly, as 
they appeared upon the frame, and where they found three or 
four words together that might make part of a sentence, they 
dictated to the four remaining boys, who were scribes. This 
work was repeated three or four times, and at every turn the 
engine was so contrived that the words shifted into new places, 
as the square bits of wood moved upside down.^ 

Six hours a day the young students were employed in this 
labor ; and the professor showed me several volumes in large 
folio, already collected, of broken sentences, which he intended 
to piece together, and out of those rich materials to give the 
world a complete body of all arts and sciences ; which, however, 
might be still improved and much expedited, if the public 
would raise a fund for making and employing five hundred 
such frames in Lagado, and oblige the managers to contribute 
in common their several collections. 

He assured me that this invention had employed all his 
thoughts from his youth; that he had emptied the whole vocab- 
ulary into his frame, and made the strictest computation of 
the general proportion there is in books between the number of 
particles, nouns, and verbs, and other parts of speech. 

I made my humblest acknowledgment to this illustrious per- 
son for his great communicativeness, and promised, if ever 
I had the good fortune to return to my native country, that I 
would do him justice as the sole inventor of this wonderful 
machine, the form and contrivance of which I desired leave 
to delineate on paper. I told him, although it was the 
custom of our learned in Europe to steal inventions from 
each other (who had thereby at least this advantage, that it 
became a controversy which was the right owner), yet I 



1 This is a severe stricture upon the old routine work of grammar-teaching, 
which was strangely stupid and unfruitful. 



THE ACADEMY AT LAG ABO 119 

would take such caution that he should have the honor entire 
without a rival. 

We next went to the school of languages, where three pro- 
fessors sat in consultation upon improving that of their own 
country. 

The first project was to shorten discourse by cutting poly- 
syllables into one, and leaving out verbs and particles, because, 
in reality, all things imaginable are but nouns. 

The other project was a scheme for entirely abolishing all 
words whatsoever ; and this was urged as a great advantage in 
point of health, as well as brevity. For it is plain that every 
word we speak is, in some degree, a diminution of our lungs by 
corrosion, and consequently contributes to the shortening of our 
lives. An expedient was therefore offered that, since words 
are only names for things, it would be more convenient for all 
men to carry about them such things as were necessary to ex- 
press a particular business they are to discourse on. And this 
invention would certainly have taken place, to the great ease 
as well as health of the subject, if the women, in conjunction 
with the vulgar and illiterate, had not threatened to raise a 
rebellion unless they might be allowed the liberty to speak with 
their tongues, after the manner of their forefathers; such con- 
stant irreconcilable enemies to science are the common people. 

However, many of the most learned and wise adhere to 
the new scheme of expressing themselves by things ; which 
has only this inconvenience attending it, that if a man's busi- 
ness be very great, and of various kinds, he must be obliged, 
in proportion, to carry a greater bundle of things upon his 
back, unless he can afford one or two strong servants to attend 
him. I have often beheld two of these sages almost sinking 
under the weight of their packs, like peddlers among us ; who, 
when they met in the street would lay down their loads, open 
their sacks, and hold conversation for an hour together ; then 
put up their implements, help each other to resume their bur- 
dens, and take their leave. 

But for short conversations, a man may carry implements in 



120 JONATHAN SWIFT 

his pockets, and under his arms, enough to supply him; and 
in his house he can not be at a loss. Therefore the room where 
company meet who practice this art is full of all things, ready 
at hand, requisite to furnish matter for this kind of artificial 
converse.^ 

Another great advantage proposed by this invention was, 
that it would serve as a universal language, to be understood 
in all civilized nations, whose goods and utensils are generally 
of the same kind, or nearly resembling, so that their uses 
might easily be comprehended. And thus Ambassadors would 
be qualified to treat with foreign Princes or Ministers of State, 
to whose tongues they were utter strangers. 

I was at the mathematical school, where the master taught 
his pupils after a method scarcely imaginable to us in Europe. 
The proposition and demonstration were fairly written on a 
thin wafer, with ink composed of a cephalic tincture. This 
the student was to swallow upon a fasting stomach, and for 
three days following eat nothing but bread and water. As the 
wafer digested, the tincture mounted to his brain, bearing the 
composition along with it. But the success has not hitherto 
been answerable, partly by some error in the quaiitum or 
proportion, and partly by the perverseness of lads, to whom 
this bolus is so nauseous that they generally steal aside and 
discharge it upwards, before it can operate; neither have they 
been yet persuaded to use so long an abstinence as the pre- 
scription requires. 

In the school of political projectors, I was but ill enter- 
tained, the professors appearing, in my judgment, wholly out 
of their senses, which is a scene that never fails to make me 
melancholy. These unhappy people were proposing schemes 
for persuading monarchs to choose favorites upon the score of 
their wisdom, capacity, and virtue ; of teaching ministers to 
consult the public good ; of rewarding merit, great abilities, 

1 This reminds us that object teaching, no less than word-teaching, may be 
carried to excess. Doubtless, the golden mean between the two extremes is to 
be sought by the teacher. 



THE ACADEMY AT LAGABO 121 

and eminent services ; of instructing Princes to know their 
true interest, by placing it on the same foundation with that 
of their people ; of choosing for employments persons qualified 
to exercise them ; with many other wild impossible chimeras, 
that never entered before into the heart of man to conceive ; 
and confirmed in me the old observation that there is nothing 
so extravagant and irrational which some philosophers have 
not maintained for truth. 

But, however, I shall so far do justice to this part of the 
Academy as to acknowledge that all of them were not so 
visionary. There was a most ingenious Doctor, who seemed 
to be perfectly versed in the whole nature and system of gov- 
ernment. This illustrious person had verj; usefully employed 
his studies in finding out effectual remedies for all diseases and 
corruptions to which the several kinds of public administration 
are subject, by the vices or infirmities of those who govern, as 
well as by the licentiousness of those who are to obey. 

For instance, whereas all writers and reasoners have agreed 
that there is a strict universal resemblance between the natural 
and the political body, can there be anything more evident 
than that the health of both must be preserved, and the diseases 
cured by the same prescriptions ? It is allowed that Senates 
and great Councils are often troubled with redundant, ebullient, 
and other peccant humors; with many diseases of the head, and 
more of the heart ; with strong convulsions, with grievous con- 
tractions of the nerves and sinews in both hands, but especially 
the right ; with spleens, flatus, vertigoes, and deliriums ; with 
scrofulous tumors, full of fetid, purulent matter ; with sour, 
frothy ructations ; with canine appetites, and crudeness of 
digestion, besides many others, needless to mention. This 
Doctor therefore proposed that, upon the meeting of the 
Senate, certain physicians should attend at the three first days 
of their sitting, and, at the close of each day's debate, feel 
the pulse of every Senator ; after which, having maturely con- 
sidered and consulted upon the nature of the several maladies, 
and the methods of cure, they should on the fourth day return 



122 JONATHAN SWIFT • 

to the Senate house, attended by their apothecaries stored with 
proper medecines, and, before the members sat, administer 
to each of them lenitives, aperitives, abstersives, corrosives, 
restringents, palliatives, laxatives, cephallagics, icterics, apo- 
phlegmatics, acoustics, as their several cases required, and, ac- 
cording as these medicines should operate, repeat, alter, or 
omit them at the next meeting. 

This project could not be of any great expense to the public, 
and might, in my opinion, be of much use for the dispatch of 
business in those countries where Senates have any share in 
the legislative pov/er; beget unanimity, shorten debates, open 
a few mouths which are now closed, and close many more which 
are now open ; curb the petulancy of the young, and correct 
the positiveness of the old ; rouse the stupid, and damp the 
pert. 

Again, — because it is a general complaint that the favorites 
of Princes are troubled with short and weak memories, the 
same Doctor proposed, that whoever attended a First Minister, 
after having told his business with the utmost brevity and in 
the plainest words, should, at his departure, give the said 
Minister a tweak by the nose, or a kick on the belly, or tread 
on his corns, or lug him thrice by both ears, or pinch his arm 
black and blue, to prevent forgetfulness, and, at every levee- 
day, repeat the same operation, till the business were done 
or absolutely refused. 

He likewise directed that every Senator in the great Council 
of a nation, after he had delivered his opinion and argued in 
the defense of it, should be obliged to give his vote directly 
contrary ; because if that were done, the result would infalli- 
bly terminate in the good of the public. 

When parties in a state are violent, he offered a wonderful 
contrivance to reconcile them. The method is this : you take 
a hundred leaders of each party ; you dispose them into couples, 
of such whose heads are nearest of a size ; then let two nice 
operators saw off the occiput of each couple at the same time, 
in such a manner that the brain may be equally divided, l^et 



THE ACADEMY AT LAG ADO 123 

the occiputs, thus cut off, be interchanged, applying each to 
the head of his opposite party man. It seems indeed to be a 
work that requires some exactness, but the professor assured 
us that, if it were dexterously performed, the cure would be 
infallible. For he argued thus : that the two half -brains, 
being left to debate the matter between themselves within the 
space of one skull, would soon come to a good understanding, 
and produce that moderation, as well as regularity of thinking, 
so much to be wished for in the heads of those who imagine 
they come into the world only to watch and govern its motion. 
And as to the difference of brains, in quantity or quality, 
among those who are directors in faction, the Doctor assured 
us, from his own knowledge, that it was a perfect trifle. 

I heard a very warm debate between two Professors, about 
the most commodious and effectual ways and means of raising 
money without grieving the subject. The first affirmed the 
justest method would be to lay a certain tax upon vices and 
folly, and the sum fixed upon every man to be rated, after 
the fairest manner, by a jury of his neighbors. The second 
was of an opinion directly contrary — to tax those qualities of 
body and mind for which men chiefly value themselves, the 
rate to be more or less, according to the degrees of excelling ; 
the decision whereof should be left entirely to their own breast. 
The highest tax was upon men who are the greatest favorites 
of the other sex, and the assessments, according to the number 
and nature of the favors they have received ; for which they 
are allowed to be their own vouchers. Wit, valor, and polite- 
ness were likewise proposed to be largely taxed and collected 
in the same manner, by every person's giving his own word 
for the quantum of what he possessed. But as to honor, jus- 
tice, wisdom, and learning, they should not be taxed at all ; 
because they are qualifications of so singular a kind that no 
man will either allow them in his neighbor or value them in 
himself. 

The women were proposed to be taxed according to their 
beauty and skill in dressing, wherein they had the same privi- 



124 JONATHAN SWIFT 

lege with the men, to be determined by their own judgment. 
But constancy, chastity, good sense, and good-nature were not 
rated, because they would not bear the charge of collecting. 

To keep Senators in the interest of the Crown, it was pro- 
posed that the members should raffle for employments, every 
man first taking an oath and giving security that he would vote 
for the Court, whether he won or not ; after which, the losers 
had, in their turn, the liberty of raffling upon the next vacancy. 
Thus, hope and expectation would be kept alive ; none would 
complain of broken promises, but impute their disappointments 
wholly to fortune, whose shoulders are broader and stronger 
than those of a Ministry. 

Another Professor showed me a large paper of instructions 
for discovering plots and conspiracies against the government. 
He advised great statesmen to examine into the diet of all 
suspected persons ; their times of eating ; and upon which side 
they lay in bed. 

The whole discourse was written with great acuteness, con- 
taining many observations, both curious and useful for politi- 
cians, but as I conceived not altogether complete. This I 
ventured to tell the author, and offered, if he pleased, to 
supply him with some additions. He received my proposition 
with more compliance than is usual among writers, especially 
those of the projecting species, professing he would be glad to 
receive further information. 

1 told him that in the kingdom of Tribnia,^ by the natives 
called Langdon,2 where I had sojourned some time in my 
travels, the bulk of the people consist in a manner wholly of 
discoverers, witnesses, informers, accusers, prosecutors, evi- 
dence swearers, together with their several subservient and 
subaltern instruments, all under the colors, the conduct, and 
the pay of Ministers of State and their deputies. The plots in 

^ Great Britain is intended. " Trihnia " is an anagram of Britain. 

2 London is meant. The name is variously pronounced by the inhabitants of 
the city. A pronunciation nearly approaching lahn''n is affected by some. Others 
give to the name a nasal sound similar to the pronunciation here expressed. 



THE ACADEMY AT LAG ABO 125 

that kingdom are usually the workmanship of those persons 
who desire to raise their own characters of profound politi- 
cians ; to restore new vigor to a crazy administration ; to stifle 
or divert general discontents ; to fill their coffers with forfei- 
tures ; and raise or sink the opinion of public credit, as either 
shall best answer their private advantage. It is first agreed 
and settled among them what suspected persons shall be accused 
of a plot ; then effectual care is taken to secure all their letters 
and papers and put the owners in chains. These papers are 
delivered to a set of artists, very dexterous in finding out the 
mysterious meanings of words, syllables, and letters ; for in- 
stance, they can discover a flock of geese to signify a Senate ; 
a lame dog, an invader ; the plague, a standing army ; a 
buzzard, a Prime Minister ; the gout, a High Priest ; a gibbet, 
a Secretary of State ; a sieve, a court lady ; a broom, a revolu- 
tion ; a mouse-trap, an employment ; a bottomless pit, a 
treasury ; a sink, a court ; a cap and bells, a favorite ; a 
broken reed, a court of justice ; an empty tun, a general ; 
a running sore, the administration. ^ 

When this method fails, they have two others more effectual, 
which the learned among them call acrostics and anagrams. 
First, they can decipher all initial letters into political mean- 
ings. Thus, N shall signify a plot ; B, a regiment of horse ; 
L, a fleet at sea ; or secondly, by transposing the letters of the 
alphabet in any suspected paper, they can lay open the deepest 
designs of a discontented party. 

The Professor made me great acknowledgments for commu- 
nicating these observations, and promised to make honorable 
mention of me in his treatise. 

I saw nothing in this country that could invite me to a 
longer continuance, and began to think of returning home to 
England. 

Laputa and its dependencies form part of the continent. 



1 Not one of these symbols is chosen at random. Keen satire is found in each 
of them. 



126 JONATHAN SWIFT 

which extends itself, as I have reason to believe, eastward, to 
that unknown tract of America, westward of California ; and 
north, to the Pacific Ocean, which is not above a hundred and 
fifty miles from Lagado ; where there is a good port, and much 
commerce with the great island of Luggnagg, situated to the 
northwest about 29 degrees north latitude, and 140 longitude. 
This island of Luggnagg stands south-eastward of Japan, about 
a hundred leagues distant. There is a strict alliance between the 
Japanese Emperor and the King of Luggnagg ; which affords 
frequent opportunities of sailing from one island to the other. 
I determined therefore to direct my course this way, in order 
to hasten my return to Europe. I hired two mules, with a 
guide to show me the way and carry my small baggage. I 
took leave of my noble protector, who had shown me so much 
favor, and who made me a generous present at my departure. 



Ill 

POPE 
BERQUIN 



127 



ALEXANDER POPE 

Pope, the great poet of the "Augustan Age " of English literature (the 
age of Queen Anne), was born in the glorious year 1688, near Windsor, in 
England. His father, a retired merchant, secured capable tutors for him, 
but Pope never enjoyed the association of other boys in his studies, and was 
a stranger to school and college life. 

In youth he exhibited remarkable precocity. His oft-quoted Ode on Soli- 
tude w^as written before he was twelve years of age. At sixteen he composed 
Pastorals, and at eighteen The Messiah, both fashioned after classic models, 
the last-named being a close imitation of Vergil's Pollio. Other brilliant 
achievements followed in quick succession, and Pope became the reigning 
favorite in letters, amazing all by the flash of his burnished couplets and 
the splendor of his effects. 

At the age of twenty-four, he undertook the great task of translating 
Homer's Iliad into English, and transformed the grand and rolling poetry 
of the Greek epic into elegantly turned couplets. He reaped a golden 
harvest, and honors were showered upon him. He purchased an estate at 
Twickenham, in the vicinity of London, and busied himself in adorning it. 
Here he held a sort of court, and reigned over the literary world of Great 
Britain. 

In person he was exceedingly delicate. He could not stand erect unless 
he was sewed up in canvas stays. He could neither smoke nor drink with 
other men (and these were almost universal habits of literary men of his 
time). He could not keep late hours with his hearty friends. He wore 
three pairs of stockings upon his attenuated limbs. His whole life was a 
struggle against disease, though he prolonged his days to the age of fifty-six, 
thanks to the excellent care which he received. 

Pope never married. He was ever the spoiled child of a proud and 
indulgent mother. Gradually his many friends visited him less and less, 
feeling perhaps unpleasantly the restraints of companionship with one so 
un suited to their coarser habits of life. 

For some years after he took up his residence at Twickenham, Pope 
busied himself with translating Homer's Odyssey and editing Shakspeare. 
After his literary friends ceased to make of his home an assembly hall, 
estrangements came. His works were criticised — generally by men of far 

SCH. IN COM. — 9 lg9 



130 ALEXANDER POPE 

less genius and penetration than he possessed. He wreaked upon them an 
unexampled vengeance, hurling against them a burning, terrible satire, The 
Dunciad, which " fell among his opponents like an exterminating thunder- 
bolt." There is nothing else in literature to be compared to it. It is, of 
course, a mock-heroic poem. The title is imitated from Homer's Iliad 
(from the city of Hium, or Troy), Vergil's ^neid (from ^neas, a Trojan 
hero), and Camoens' Lusiad (from Lusus, the fabled founder of Lisbon), 
etc. It is, in fact, the epic of the Dunces. It represents the Goddes? 
Dulness^ selecting a ruler for her vast empire. 

Theobald, a Shakspearean critic, is chosen. " Besides being grossly dull 
and stupid," says Edward Everett Hale, " Theobald had been stupid enough 
to point out (correctly) that Pope's edition of Shakspeare might have been 
better if more care and pains had been spent upon it. So he was to be the 
chief dullard. As a matter of fact, he was dethroned, in a second version 
of the poem, by CoUey Gibber, the witty actor who had ridiculed a comedy 
that Pope had a hand in. Gibber was hardly dull, but he had been dull 
enough to attack Pope. And so with all. The poem is so disfigured by 
personal venom, spite, and malice, that though we can easily enjoy the keen 
satire and much of the humor (much of it is disgusting), though we can 
read the poem with pleasure, we gain from it but little respect for the 
writer." 

It would seem that the fourth book deserves a different criticism. It 
performs a real service to society, and especially to the cause of education. 
It is often called The Greater Dunciad, — not because of its length, but 
from its greater worth. It portrays a system of education diametrically 
opposite to that of Pestalozzi. It is a classic which the progressive teacher 
needs as a part of his equipment. Thus armed and armored he is stronger, 
bolder, and more sure. The Dunciad, consisting at first of three books, was 
first issued in 1728. The Greater Dunciad did not appear until fourteen 
years later. 

Of Pope's many other poems, the Essay on Criticism, The Rape of the Lock, 
Essay on Man, Epistles, and Satires are the most important. 

Pope is described as an artificial poet. The exactness and finish of his 
couplets, the monotonous perfection of his verses, is suggestive not of 
nature, but of art. His style of poetry found many imitators devoid of his 
ability, and sank in the estimation of critics. A wholly different school of 
poets succeeded, in whose works we find little to remind us of the formality 
and precision which characterized the poetry of the age of Queen Anne. 
From the low estimation in which the " mechanical verse " of Pope has been 
held, a reaction is apparent. There is a returning appreciation of his genius. 

1 The preferred form of this word at the present time is dullness. As a proper 
name, it is here given the form employed by Pope. 



THE GREATER DUNCIAD 131 

And probably no other of his poems is of greater service to the later world 
than the one in which he satirizes a false and paralyzing educational system, 
of which traces yet linger in many of the schools of our own day. 

Pope's private life was pure, his habits unexceptionable. He was true to 
his friends, and generous to the needy. He passed gently away in 1744, 
seeming to fall into a peaceful slumber. 



THE GEEATEE DUNCIAD 

(Abbreviated) 

The goddess Dulness comes in her majesUj to destroy science and order, and to 
inaugurate the reign of Dnnces. 

Now flamed the Dog star's unpropitious ray, 
Smote every brain, and withered every bay ; 
Sick was the sun, the owl forsook his bower, 
The moonstruck prophet felt the madding hour ; 
Then rose the seed of Chaos and of Night, 
To blot out order, and extinguish light. 
Of dull and venal a new world to mold, 
And bring Saturnian days of lead and gold.^ 
She mounts the throne ; her head a cloud concealed, 
In broad effulgence all below revealed ; 
('Tis thus aspiring Dulness ever shines.) 
Soft on her lap her Laureate son reclines. 
Beneath her footstool. Science groans in chains. 
And Wit dreads exile, penalties, and pains. 
There foamed rebellious Logic, gagged and bound. 
There stripped, fair Rhetoric languished on the ground ; 
His blunted arms by Sophistry are borne. 
And shameless Billingsgate her robes adorn. 
Morality, by her false guardians drawn, 
(Chicane in furs, and Casuistry in lawn,) 

1 Lead represents dullness ; gold, venality. 



132 ALEXANDER POPE 

Gasps, as they straighten at each end the cord, 

And dies when Dulness gives her Page^ the word, 

Mad Mathesis^ alone was unconfined ; 

Too mad for mere material chains to bind, 

Now to pure space lifts her ecstatic stare, 

Now, running round the circle, finds its square.^ 

But held in tenfold bonds the Muses lie, 

Watched both by Envy's and by Flattery's eye ; 

There to her heart sad Tragedy addrest 

The dagger wont to pierce the tyrant's breast ; 

But sober History restrained her rage, 

And promised vengeance on a barbarous age. 

There sunk Thali'a,* nerveless, cold, and dead, 

Had not her sister. Satire, held her head ; 

Nor couldst thou, Chesterfield ! ^ a tear refuse ; 

Thou wep'st, and with thee wept each gentle Muse. 

The dull and venal are drawn about the goddess by a common instinct. 

And now had Fame's all-piercing trumpet blown, 
And all the nations summoned to the throne. 
The young, the old, who feel her inward sway, 
One instinct seizes, and transports away. 
None need a guide, by sure attraction led. 
And strong impulsive gravity of head ; 
None want a place, for all their center found, 
Hung to the goddess and cohered around. 
Not closer, orb in orb, conglobed are seen 
The buzzing bees about their dusky queen. 
The gathering number, as it moves along, 
Involves a vast involuntary throng, 

1 Judge Page, an English jurist ever ready to hang the defendant. 

2 Learning ; a Greek word, referring especially to mathematical science. 

3 Eef erring to the efforts of scholars in the time of Pope to "square" the 
circle. 

4 The Muse who presided over comedy and idyllic poetry. 

^ Jjord Chesterfield, who vindicated in Parliament the rights of authors, 



TBE GEUATER DVNCIAD 1S3 

Who, gently drawn, and struggling less and less, 
Roll in her vortex and her power confess ; 
Not those alone who, passive, own her laws, 
But who, weak rebels, more advance her cause. 
Whate'er of Dunce m college or m town 
Sneers at another in toupee or gown ; 
Whate'er of mongrel no one class admits, 
A wit with Dunces, and a Dunce with wits. 
Nor absent they, no members of her state. 
Who pay her homage in her sons, the great ; 
Who, false to Phoebus, bow the knee to Baal,^ 
Or, impious, preach his word without a call ; 
Patrons, who sneak from living worth to dead, 
Withhold the pension, and set up the head ; ^ 
Or vest dull flattery in the sacred gown ; 
Or give from fool to fool the laurel crown ; 
And (last and worst) with all the cant of wit, 
Without the soul, the Muse's hypocrite. 

The goddess addresses the assemblage. 

When Dulness smiling : ^ " Thus revive the wits ! 
But murder, first, and mince them all to bits ; 
As erst Medea (cruel, so to save !) 
A new edition of old JEson gave ; 
Let standard authors, thus like trophies borne, 
Appear more glorious as more hacked and torn. 
And you, my critics I in the chequer' d shade. 
Admire new light through holes yourselves have made. 

Leave not a foot of verse, a foot of stone, 
A page, a grave, that they can call their own ; 
But spread, my sons, your glory thin or thick, 
On passive paper, or on solid brick. ' ' 

1 Phoebus and Baal were divinities of ancient mythology. 

2 Neglect the starving genius while he lives, and set up a monument in his 
honor after his death. 

^ The omission of the word says, in such cases as this, is common in epic poetry. 



134 ALEXANDER POPE 

A birch-crowned specter, the representative of schoolmasters, rises to present an 
address. He assures the goddess that it is the care of schools to keep youths 
out of the way of real knowledge, by confining them to words. 

Now crowds on crowds around the goddess press, 
Each eager to present the first address. 
Dunce, scorning Dunce, beholds the next advance, 
But fop shows fop superior complaisance. 
When lo ! a specter rose, v/hose index hand 
Held forth the virtue of the dreadful wand; 
His beavered brow a birchen garland ^ wears, 
Dropping with infants' blood, and mothers' tears. 
O'er every vein a shuddering horror runs; 
Eton 2 and Winton shake through all their sons. 
All flesh is humbled; Westminster's bold race 
Shrink, and confess the genius of the place; 
The pale boy Senator yet tingling stands, 
And holds his breeches close with both his hands. 

Then thus: " Since man from beast by words is known. 
Words are man's province; words we teach alone. 
When reason, doubtful, like the Samian letter, ^ 
Points him two ways, the narrower is the better. 
Placed at the door of learning, youth to guide, 
We never suffer it to stand too wide. 
To ask, to guess, to know, as they commence, 
As fancy opens the quick springs of sense. 
We ply the memory, we load the brain. 
Bind rebel wit, and double chain on chain; 
Confine the thought, to exercise the breath. 
And keep them in the pale of words till death, 
Whate'er the talents, or howe'er designed. 
We hang one jingling padlock on the mind." 

1 The birchen garland was an appropriate emblem for the old-time teacher. 

■2 Eaton, Winton, and Westminster are old and famous schools of England. 

3 The Greek letter upsilon, represented graphically in the English alphabet 
by Y. In the school of the Samian Pythagoras it was made the symbol of the 
parting of the ways — of the choice between virtue and vice. 



THE GREATER DUN CI AD 135 

Aristarchus addresses the goddess, and demonstrates that the Universities fol- 
low essentially the same plan as that pursued in the schools, mincing words 
and devoting themselves to minute criticism. 

'-'- Mistress! dismiss that rabble from your throne. 
Avaunt — is Aristarchus ^ yet unknown ? 
Thy mighty scholiast, whose unwearied pains 
Made Horace dull, and humbled Milton's strains ! 
Turn what they will to verse, their toil is vain; 
Critics like me shall make it prose again. 
Roman and Greek grammarians! know your better; 
Author of something yet more great than letter; 
While, towering o'er your alphabet, like Saul, 
Stands our Digamma,^ and o'ertops them all. 
'Tis true, on words is still our whole debate, 
Disputes of me, or te^^ of aut or at; 
To sound or sink, in cano^ O or A,* 
Or give up Cicero to C or K.^ 
Let Friend ^ affect to speak as Terence spoke. 
And Alsop never but like Horace joke: 
For me, what Vergil, Pliny may deny, 
Manilius^ or Solinus shall supply: 



1 A famous critic of old time. The name is here used to denote a complete 
critic. 

2 A tall letter of the ^olic Greek, resembling the English F. It was 
proposed in the time of Pope to restore this letter to new editions of the 
Iliad. 

3 It was a matter of serious dispute among editors of Horace, the Latin poet, 
whether a line in the first Ode of Horace should begin with me or te. 

* A question as to the proper stress of the voice in reading the first line of 
Vergil's ^neid. This was to Pope a seemingly unworthy trifle for scholars 
to discuss ; but at the present time the vocal rendering of Latin verse is a 
matter of careful consideration. 

^ The Germans gave the sound of Ic to the letter C in Cicero. The English 
generally pronounced Latin words according to English analogy. In the Roman 
pronunciation of Latin, which prevails in the United States at the present time, 
c has the sound of k. 

6 Friend was Master of Westminster School ; Alsop, an imitator of Horace. 

■^ Manilius and Solinus were inferior Latin authors of ancient time. Solinus 
is called " Pliny's ape." 



136 ALEXANDER POPE 

For Attic phrase in Plato let them seek, 

I poach in Suidas ^ for unlicensed Greek. 

In ancient sense if any needs will deal, 

Be sure I give them fragments, not a meal: 

What Gellius or Stobseus ^ hashed before. 

Or chewed by blind old socialists o'er and o'er. 

The critic eye, that microscope of wit, 

Sees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit; 

How parts relate to parts, or they to whole, 

The body's harmony, the beaming soul. 

Are things which Kuster, Burman, Wasse^ shall see 

When man's whole frame is obvious to a flea. 

' ' Ah, think not. Mistress I more true dullness lies 
In folly's cap than wisdom's grave disguise. 
Like buoys that never sink into the flood. 
On learning's surface we but lie and nod. 
Thine is the genuine head of many a house, 
And much divinity without a vov<;.^ 
Nor could a Barrow work on every block, 
Nor has one Atterbury spoiled the flock. 
See ! Still thy own, the heavy cannon roll, 
And metaphysic smokes involve the pole. 
For thee we dim the eyes, and stuff the head 
With all such reading as was never read; 
For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it. 
And write about it, goddess, and about it! 
So spins the silkworm small its slender store, 
And labors till it clouds itself all o'er." 

The goddess graciously responds^ and impresses upon the Universities the one 
essential thing to teach. 

'' Oh " (cried the goddess) " for some pedant reign ! 
Some gentle James, to bless the land again; 



1 A dictionary writer of poor judgment. 

2 Gtllins, Stobgeus, Kuster, Burman, and Wasse were all minute critics. 

3 Intellect (intended to rhyme with house, but properly pronounced noose). 



THS: GRilATUn DtfNClAD 137 

To stick the doctor's chair into the throne, 
Give law to words, or war with words alone; 
Senates and courts with Greek and Latin rule, 
And turn the Council to a grammar school ! ^ 
For sure, if Dulness sees a grateful day, 
'Tis in the shade of arbitrary sway. 
O if my sons may learn one earthly thing. 
Teach but that one, sufficient for a King ; 
That which my priests, and mine alone, maintain. 
Which as it dies or lives, we fall or reign. 
May you, my Cam and Isis,^ preach it long ! 
The Right Divine of Kings to govern wrong." 

A crowd of University delegates apjproaches^ led by the critic Aristarchus. 

Prompt at the call, around the goddess roll 
Broad hats and hoods and caps, a sable shoal ; 
Thick and more thick the black blockade extends, 
A hundred head of Aristotle's friends. 
Nor wert thou, Isis ! wanting to the day, — 
Though Christ Church ^ long kept prudishly away. — 
Each stanch polemic, stubborn as a rock. 
Each fierce logician, still expelling Locke,* 
Came, whip and spur, and dashed through thin and thick. 
On German Crouzaz and Dutch Burgersdyck. 
As many quit the streams that murmuring fall 
To lull the sons of Margaret and Clarehall,^ 

1 James the First of England and Sixth of Scotland, who was so famous for 
his pedantry that politicians sought to gain his favor by purposely committing 
blunders, which gave their royal master an opport;aiity to display his learning 
by correcting them. 

■^ The great English universities are located upon the banks of the Cam and 
Isis rivers. Cambridge originally derived its name from a bridge over the first 
of these ; Oxford, on the Isis, from a ford for cattle. Pope uses the names of 
the rivers to signify the universities. 

3 Christ Church is a college of Oxford University. 

* Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding was censured, and its reading 
was forbidden, by the heads of the University of Oxford in 1708. 

^ JNIargaret and Clarehall are English colleges noted in Pope's time for tlieir 
disputations. 



138 ALEXANDER POPE 

Where Benlley,i late tempestuous, wont to sport 
In troubled waters, but now sleeps in port. 
Before them marched that awful Aristarch ; 
Plowed was his front, with many a deep remark ; 
His hat, which never veiled to human pride. 
Walker 2 with reverence took, and laid aside. 
Low bowed the rest; he, kingly, did but nod; 
So upright Quakers please both man and God. 
What though we let some better sort of fool 
Thrid every science, run through every school, 
Never by tumbler through the hoops was shown, 
Such skill in passing all, and touching none. 
He may, indeed (if sober all this time) 
Plague with dispute, or persecute with rhyme. 
We only furnish what he cannot use. 
Or wed to what he must divorce, a Muse; ^ 
Full in the midst of Euclid* dip at once, 
And petrify a genius to a Dunce ; 
Or, set on metaphysic ground to prance, 
Show all his paces, not a step advance. 
With the same cement, ever sure to bind, 
We bring to one dead level every mind ; 
Then take him to develop, if you can. 
And hew the block off, and get out the man.^ 
But wherefore waste I words ! I see advance 
A pupil, and laced governor from France. 
Walker, our hat — no more he deigned to say. 
But, stern as Ajax' specter, strode away. 



1 Bentley was a Cambridge critic. 

2 Walker, also of Cambridge, was the constant friend of Bentley. 

3 One of the nine goddesses fabled by the ancient Greeks and Romans to pre- 
side over literature, science, and the arts. Their names were : Calli'ope, Cli'o, 
Er'ato, Euter'pe, Melpom'ene, Polyhym'nia, Terpsich'ore, Thali'a, and Ura'nia. 

* A famous mathematician of antiquity. 

5 An allusion to the odd conceit of an ancient sculptor, that every block of 
marble contains already an exquisite piece of sculpture, which requires only the 
removal of the superfluous marble confining it. 



THE GREATER DUNCIAD 139 

The University men are driven away by an advancing crowd of boys returned 
from travel under the charge of tutors. A representative tutor presents to the 
goddess a ruined youth and his mistress. The goddess graciously receives the 
boy, and frees him from sense of shame. 

In flowed at once a gay embroidered race, 
And, tittering, pushed the pedants off the place. 
Some would have spoken, but the voice was drowned 
By the French horn, or by the opening hound. 
The first came forward with as easy mien 
As if he saw St. James's ^ and the Queen, 
When thus the attendant orator begun : 
"Receive, great Empress, thy accomplished son, 
Thine from his birth, and sacred from the rod, 
A dauntless infant, never scared with God.^ 
The sire saw, one by one, his virtues wake ; 
The mother begged the blessing of a rake. 
Thou gavest that ripeness which so soon began, 
And ceased so soon, he ne'er was boy nor man. 
Through school and college, thy kind cloud o'ercast, 
Safe and unseen the young ^neas past ; 
Thence bursting glorious, all at once let down, 
Stunned with his giddy larum half the town. 
Intrepid, then, o'er seas and lands he flew ; 
Europe he saw, and Europe saw him, too. 
There all thy gifts and graces Ave display ; 
Thou, only thou, directing all our way ! 
To where the Seine, obsequious as she runs, 
Pours at great Bourbon's feet her silken sons ; 
Or Tiber, now no longer Roman, rolls, 
Vain of Italian arts, Italian souls ; 
To happy convents, bosomed deep in vines, 
Where slumber Abbots, purple as their wines ; 



1 St. James's Palace, London. 

2 The youth "never scared with God," who "ne'er was boy nor man," is one 
of the saddest products of a vicious system of education. 



140 ALEXANDER POPI! 

To isles of fragrance, lily-silvered vales, 

Diffusing languor in the panting gales ; 

To lands of singing or of dancing slaves, 

Love-wliispering woods, and lute-resounding waves. 

But chief her shrine where naked Venus keeps, 

And Cupids ride the lion of the deeps ; ^ 

Where, eased of fleets, the Adriatic main 

Wafts the smooth eunuch and enamored swain. 

Led by my hand, he sauntered Europe round. 

And gathered every vice on Christian ground ; 

Saw every court, heard every King declare 

His royal sense of operas or the fair ; 

The stews and palace equally desired. 

Intrigued, with glory and with spirit fired, 

Tried all hors-d'oeuvres^^ all liqueurs^ defined, 

Judicious drank, and greatly daring, dined ; 

Dropped the dull lumber of the Latin store. 

Spoiled his own language, and acquired no more ; 

All classic learning lost on classic ground ; 

At last turned air, the echo of a sound ! 

See now, half-cured, and perfectly well-bred. 

With nothing but a solo in his head ; 

As much estate and princijDle and wit. 

As Jansen, Fleetwood, Cibber * shall think fit ; 

Stolen from a duel, watched by every one. 

And, if a borough choose him, not undone ; 

See, to my country, happy, I restore 

This glorious youth, and add one Venus more." 

Pleased she accepts the hero and the dame. 

Wraps in her veil, and frees from sense of shame. 



1 The Lion of St. Mark is the ensign of Venice, formerly a power on the 
Adriatic. 

2 Things out of order and propriety. 

3 Liquors. 

* Three eminent managers of plays who had concerned themselves in the edu- 
cation of youths, after a fashion none too strict. 



THE GREATER DUNCIAD 141 

A croicd of worthless idlers comes before the goddess. Annius, representing 
venders of spurious antiquities, implores the goddess to make virtuosos of 
the idlers. 

Then looked, and saw a lazy, lolling sort, 
Unseen at church, at senate, or at court, 
Of ever-listless loiterers, that attend 
No cause, no trust, no duty, and no friend. 
Thee, too, my Paridel,^ she marked thee there. 
Stretched on the rack of a too easy chair. 
And heard thy everlasting yaAvn confess 
The pains and penalties of idleness. 
She pitied, but her pity only shed 
Benigner influence on my nodding head. 
But Annius, crafty seer, with ebon wand. 
And well-dissembled emerald on his hand. 
False as his gems, and cankered as his coins. 
Came, crammed with capon, from where Pollio ^ dines. 
Soft as the wily fox is seen to creep. 
Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep, 
Walk round and round, now prying here, now there ; 
So he ; but, pious, whispered first his prayer : 
'' Grant, gracious goddess ! grant me still to cheat; 
O may thy cloud still cover the deceit ! 
Thy choicer mists on this assembly shed. 
But pour them thickest on the noble head. 
So shall each youth, assisted by our eyes. 
See other Csesars, other Homers rise ; ^ 

Though twilight ages hunt the Athenian fowl,^ 
Which Chalcis, gods, and mortals call an owl, 
Now see an Attys, now a Cecrops * clear, 



1 The name is taken from Spenser, whose Paridel is a wandering squire or 
gentleman. 

2 Probably Pollio represents the Prince of Wales. 

3 The owl stamped on old Greek coins. 

* Cecrops was the earliest King of Athens. Probably no genuine coins of his 
age are to be fouijd. 



142 ALEXANDER POPE 

Nay, Mahomet,^ the pigeon at thine ear ; 
Be rich in ancient brass, though not in gold, 
And keep his lares, though his house be sold : 
To headless Phoebe his fair bride postpone, 
Honor a Syrian Prince above his own ; 
Lord of an Otho, if I vouch it true. 
Blest in one Niger,^ till he knows of two." 

Mummius, another dealer in alleged antiquities, contests honors with Annius, 
and' relates how he secured genuine antique coins, which were swallowed to 
prevent their capture by a pirate. 

Mummius o'erheard him ; Mummius, fool-renowned. 
Who, like his Cheops,^ stinks above the ground. 
Fierce as a startled adder, swelled, and said. 
Rattling an ancient sistrum at his head : 
Speakest thou of Syrian Princes ? traitor base ! 
Mine, goddess, mine is all the horned race. 
True, he had wit, to make their value rise ; 
From foolish Greeks to steal them, was as wise ; 
More glorious yet, from barbarous hands to keep, 
When Sallee rovers chased him on the deep. 
Then, taught by Hermes, and divinely bold, 
Down his own throat he risked the Grecian gold. 

A great number of people approach^ bearing weeds and shells. One of the num- 
ber complains to the goddess of the destruction of a precious flower^ named 
in honor of Queen Caroline. 

Then, thick as locusts, blackening all the ground, 
A tribe with weeds and shells fantastic crowned, 

1 The accent is to be placed upon the first syllable of this word. Mahomet 
professed to receive divine revelations from a pigeon. 

2 The poet refers to alleged bodies of these ancients. 

3 This refers to an ingenious and amusing imposture. The body of Cheops 
was anciently placed in the pyramid which bears his name. A mummy was 
sold by an Arab to the British Consul at Alexandria as the genuine mummy of 
Cheops, and, as a proof of its genuineness, the Consul quoted Sandys to prove 
that the royal sepulcher was at that moment empty. But the same was true 
in the time of Herodotus, 



THE GREATER BUNCIAB 143 

Each with some wondrous gift, approached the power, 

A nest, a toad, a fungus, or a flower. ^ 

But far the foremost, two, with earnest zeal 

And aspect ardent, to the throne appeal. 

The first thus opened : ''Hear thy suppliant's call, 

Great Queen, and common mother of us all! 

Fair from its humble bed I reared this flower. 

Suckled, and cheered, with air, and sun, and shower ; 

Soft on the paper ruff its leaves I spread. 

Bright with the gilded button tipped its head ; 

Then throned in glass, and named it Caroline ; 

Each maid cried, ' Charming ! ' and each youth, ' Divine ! ' 

Did nature's pencil ever blend such rays. 

Such varied light in one promiscuous blaze ! 

Now prostrate ! dead ! behold that Caroline. 

No maid cries, ' Charming ! ' and no youth, ' Divine ! ' 

And lo, the wretch ! whose vile, whose insect lust 

Laid this gay daughter of the spring in dust. 

Oh, punish him, or to the Elysian shades 

Dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades ! ' ' 

He ceased, and wept. With innocence of mien. 

The accused stood forth, and thus addressed the Queen. 



The offender explains to the goddess that he crushed the flower in securing a valu- 
able butterfly. Being a specialist, he has a contempt for everything except his 
specialty. 

" Of all the enameled race, whose silvery wing 
Waves to the tepid zephyrs of the spring 
Or swims along the fluid atmosphere. 
Once brightest shined this child of heat and air. 



1 Pope's contempt for toads, fungi, and flowers, as objects of scientific interest 
and value, will not be appreciated by the student or scientist of the present day. 
Some of the greatest triumphs of scientific study in modern times have been 
achieved in the investigation of fungous growths. In medicine, especially, such 
investigation has proved of very great value. 



144 ALEXANDER POPE 

I saw, and started from its vernal bower, 

The rising game, and chased from flower to flower. 

It fled, I followed ; now in hope, now pain ; 

It stopped, I stopped ; it moved, I moved again. 

At last it fixed, 'twas on what plant it pleased, 

And where it fixed, the beauteous bird I seized. 

Rose or carnation was below my care ; 

I meddle. Goddess, only in my sphere. 

I tell the naked fact without disguise. 

And, to excuse it, need but show the prize ; 

Whose spoils this paper offers to your eye. 

Fair even in death, this peerless butterfly,^' 

The goddess commends both, and desires them to find employment for the idlers 
whom Annius and Mummius introduced, by leading them to study humming 
birds, mosses, flies, and other objects considered trifling. 

"My sons" (she answered), "Both have done your parts; 
Live happy both, and long promote our arts. 
But hear a mother, when she recommends 
To your fraternal care our sleeping friends. 
The common soul, of Heaven's more frugal make. 
Serves but to keep fools pert, and knaves awake : 
A drowsy watchman, that just gives a knock. 
And breaks our rest, to tell us w^hat's o'clock. 
Yet by some object every brain is stirred ; 
The dull may waken to a humming bird ; 
The most recluse, discreetly opened, find 
Congenial matter in the cockle-kind ; 
The mind, in metaphysics at a loss. 
May wander in a wilderness of moss.^ 



1 The mosses belong to the class of plants called (originally with good reason) 
cryptogams (meaning concealed fertilization) . The natiire of the fertilization of 
the mosses was never discovered until 1837. The fertilization of the "crypto- 
gams" is now better understood, and less "concealed," than is that of the 
phanerogams (meaning visible fertilization). The study of the mosses, in ouy 
^ay, is deemed worthy of the highest genius. 



THE GBEATEE DUN CI AD 145 

Oh, would the sons of men once think their eyes 
And reason given them but to study flies ! 
See Nature in some partial, narrow shape, 
And let the Author of the whole escape ; 
Learn but to trifle ; or, who most observe, 
To wonder at their Maker, not to serve." 



A representative of the Freethinkers offers his services to the goddess. 

'•'• Be that my task" (replies a gloomy clerk, 
Sworn foe to mystery, yet divinely dark ; 
Whose pious hope aspires to see the day 
When moral evidence shall quite decay, 
Condemn implicit faith, and holy lies. 
Prompt to impose, and fond to dogmatize). 
*' Let others creep by timid steps, and slow. 
On plain experience lay foundations low. 
By common sense to common knowledge bred, 
And last, to Nature's cause through Nature led. 
All-seeing in thy mists, we want no guide. 
Mother of arrogance, and source of pride ! 
We nobly take the high Priori ^ road. 
And reason downward, till we doubt of God ; 
Make Nature still encroach upon His plan ; 
And shove Him off as far as e'er we can ; 
Thrust some mechanic cause into his place. 
Or bind in matter, or diffuse in space. 
Or, at one bound, o'erleaping all His laws, 
Make God man's image, man the final cause, 
Find virtue local, all relation scorn, 
See all in self, and but for self be born ; 
Of nought so certain as our reason still. 
Of nought so doubtful as of soul and will." 



1 Keasoning from assumed cause to effect. 

SCH. IN COM. 10 



146 ALEXANDER POPE 

Silemts, representing the ancient Epicurean philosophy, delivers to the god- 
dess a company of youthful Freethinkers, to he turned over to Magus, her 
high priest. 

Bland and familiar to the throne he came, 
Led up the youth, and called the goddess dame. 
Then thus : From priestcraft happily set free, 
Lo, every finished son returns to thee. 
First slave to words, then vassal to a name, 
Then dupe to party — child and man the same ; 
Bounded by nature, narrowed still by art, 
A trifling head, and a contracted heart. 
Thus bred, thus taught, how many have I seen, 
Smiling on all, and smiled on by a Queen. 
Then take them all, O take them to thy breast ! 
Thy Magus, Goddess, shall perform the rest. 



The youths are permitted to taste the cup of Magus, which renders them oblivi- 
ous of religious, moral, and political obligations. 

With that, a wizard old his cup extends. 
Which whoso tastes, forgets his former friends, 
Sire, ancestors, himself. One casts his eyes 
Up to a star, and like Endymion ^ dies ; 
A feather, shooting from another's head, 
Extracts his brain, and principle is fled ; 
Lost is his God, his country, everything ; 
And nothing left but homage to a king ! 
The vulgar herd turn off to roll with hogs, 
To run with horses, or to hunt with dogs ; 
But, sad example ! never to escape 
Their infamy, still keep the human shape. 
But she, good goddess, sent to every child 
Firm impudence or stupefaction mild ; 



1 An ancient shepherd and astronomer of Asia Minor, said to have been con- 
demned to a sleep of thirty years. 



THE GREATER DUNCIAD 147 

And straight succeeded, leaving shame no room, 
Cibberian ^ forehead, or Cimmerian gloom. ^ 
Kind self-conceit to some her glass applies. 
Which no one looks in with another's eyes; 
But, as the flatterer or dependent paint. 
Beholds himself a patriot, chief, or saint. 
On others Interest her gay livery flings. 
Interest that waves on party-colored wings; 
Turned to the sun, she casts a thousand dyes, 
And, as she turns, the colors fall or rise. 
Others the siren sisters warble round. 
And empty heads console with empty sound. 
No more, alas! the voice of fame they hear. 
The balm of Dulness trickling in their ear. 

The goddess confers orders and degrees upon her votaries. 

Next bidding all draw near on bended knees. 
The Queen confers her titles and degrees. 
Her children first, of more distinguished sort. 
Who study Shakspeare at the Inns of Court, ^ 
Impale a glow-worm, or vertu profess, 
Shine in the dignity of F. R. S.* 
Some, deep Freemasons, join the silent race, 
Worthy to fill Pythagoras's place: 
Some botanists, or florists at the least, 
Or issue members of an annual feast. 
The last, not least in honor or applause, 
Isis and Cam made Doctors of her Laws. 

The goddess blesses her children. 

Then blessing all : " Go, children of my care. 
To practice, now, from theory repair. 

1 A forehead like that of Colley Gibber. 

2 A reference to the Cimmerii, a fabulous people of ancient Italy, said to have 
lived in caves, in perpetual darkness. ^ Schools of law. 

* Fellow of the Royal Society — a coveted distinction. 



148 ALEXANDER POPE 

All my commands are easy, short, and full; 
My sons, be proud, be selfish, and be dull. 
Guard my prerogative, assert my throne; 
This nod confirms each privilege your own. 
The cap and switch be sacred to His Grace ; ^ 
With staff and pumps the Marquis lead the race; 
From stage to stage the licensed Earl may run, 
Paired with his fellow-charioteer, the sun; 
The learned Baron, butterflies design, 
Or draw to silk Arachne's^ subtle line; 
The Judge, to dance his brother Sergeant call ; 
The Senator, at cricket urge the ball; 
The Bishop, stow (pontific luxury!) 
An hundred souls of turkeys in a pie; 
The sturdy Squire, to Gallic masters stoop. 
And drown his lands and manors in a soup. 
Others, import yet nobler arts from France, 
Teach Kings to fiddle, and make Senates dance. 
Perhaps more high some daring son may soar. 
Proud to my list to add one monarch more! 
And nobly conscious. Princes are but things 
Born for first Ministers, as slaves for Kings, 
Tyrant supreme ! shall three estates command, 
And make one mighty Dunciad of the land! " 

The goddess yawns, and all her realm is lulled to slumber. 

More she had spoke, but yawned — All nature nods. 
What mortal can resist the yaivn of Gods ? 
Churches and chapels instantly it reached; 

(St. James's first, for leaden G ^ preached;) 

Then catched the schools; the hall scarce kept awake; 
The convocation gaped, but could not speak : 

1 A Duke. 

2 The spider's. 

3 Dr. Gilbert, Archbishop 'of York, who was really an eloquent preacher, but 
who had offended one of Pope's friends. 



THE GREATER DUNCIAD 149 

Lost was the nation's sense, nor could be found, 

While the long solid unison went round. 

Wide, and more wide, it spread o'er all the realm; 

Even Palinurus ^ nodded at the helm ; 

The vapor mild o'er each committee crept; 

Unfinished treaties in each office slept; 

And chiefless armies dozed out the campaign; 

And navies yawned for orders on the main. 

O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone 
Wits have short memories, and Dunces none), 
Relate who first, who last resigned to rest; 
Whose heads she partly, whose completely, blest; 
What charms could faction, what ambition lull, 
The venal quiet, and entrance the dull; 
Till drowned was sense, and shame, and right, and wrong — 
O sing, and hush the nations with thy song! 



Chaos is restored, and the world is left in darkness. 

In vain, in vain — the all-composing hour 
Resistless falls; the Muse obeys the power. 
She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold 
Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old! 
Before her. Fancy's gilded clouds decay, 
And all its varying rainbows die away. 
Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires. 
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. 
As one by one, at dread Medea's strain. 
The sickening stars fade off the ethereal plain; 
As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' ^ wand oppressed. 
Closed, one by one, to everlasting rest: 

1 Sir Robert Walpole, the Englisli statesman. The origmal Palinurus was a 
pilot of JEneas, who fell asleep and dropped into the sea, as related in the vEnnd. 

2 Argus was a monster of ancient mythology, said to have had a hundred eyes, 
which were put out by Hermes, or Mercury. 



150 ALEXANBEB POPE 

Thus at lier felt approach, and secret might, 
Art after art goes out, and all is night. 
See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, 
Mountains of casuistry heaped o'er her head! 
Philosophy, that leaned on Heaven before, 
Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. 
Physic of Metaphysic begs defense. 
And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense! 
See Mystery to Mathematics fly ! 
In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. 
Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires. 
And unawares Mortality expires. 
Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; 
Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine ! 
Lo! thy dread empire. Chaos! is restored; 
Light dies before thy uncreating word; 
Thy hand, great anarch, lets the curtain fall, 
And universal darkness buries all. 



ARNAUD BERQUIN 

THE FRIEND OF THE CHILDREN 

Few men in any age or nation have contributed so much to the delights 
of childhood as did Arnaud Berquin (ar-no' bair-can'), in the last century. 
He was a native of Bordeaux, in southwestern France, and was younger 
than the famous Pestalozzi by three years, having been born in 1749. A 
lover of music, he began at an early age to write songs, which immediately 
became popular. His graceful lyrics were sung throughout France, and 
were " remarkable for their touching expression of the tenderest and truest 
sentiments." Among these, the lullaby which begins — 

" Sleep, my child, and close thine eyes," 

and the Genevieve of Brabant are "always cited as models of compositions of 
this class." 

The greater part of Berquin's songs became familiar to the households in 
every part of the French kingdom, and not a few found an echo in the 
homes of other lands. 

Turning his attention to prose composition, Berquin wrote a large num- 
ber of happily conceived historical sketches for juvenile readers, and also 
several books of little dramas, which have rendered his name ever dear to 
mothers and to children. He was one of the few of his day who addressed 
themselves happily to the comprehension and interest of the young. His 
Comedies hardly rise above the ordinary school dialogue in plot or in passion, 
and are free from the exaggeration and burlesque of the legitimate drama. 
Yet in their simplicity and truth they often teach great lessons of education 
and of life. And who can estimate the influence they have exerted in mold- 
ing the characters of men and women ? 

At the age of thirty-five, Berquin was honored in a peculiarly graceful 
and affectionate manner by the French Academy. He received its annual 
prize, which was awarded to " the writer of the most valuable book." The 
title which he had given to one of his volumes was used to designate the 
author himself, and the prize was decreed to " The Friend of the Children." 

" Berquin was the man of his books," says Michaud's biography. " His 
character was mild, frank, even naive. He loved children dearly. He con- 
tributed to their joys, and shared in them." 

151 



152 ABNAUB BEBQUIN 

He was as familiar to the boys and girls of the palace as to those of the 
peasant's cot. In 1791 he was proposed for instructor of the Prince Royal, 
the ill-starred child of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, who little dreamed 
of the dark days in store in the near future. But the author was not des- 
tined to receive this distinguished mark of royal favor. He died at Paris in 
the same year, beloved and mourned by the nation. 

More than a century has passed away since " The Friend of the Chil- 
dren" laid down his pen; yet he still holds a place among the writers of 
France whom the people love. 

It is scarcely possible for us to realize that Fashionable Education was 
written so long ago, and in a foreign land. This drama is to a certain 
extent familiar to the students of the French language in the United States, 
having been in former decades a favorite exercise for translation in schools. 
In this way it has exerted a greater influence than would be realized from a 
casual reading of so light a composition. Translation is not apt to prove 
rapid work among pupils who study carefully the French idioms. Generally 
the classes spent weeks in the study of this simple drama ; and all the while 
the characters were constantly before them — the spoiled Leonor, the weak 
and indulgent aunt, the sensible guardian, and the generous, true, and loving 
Didier. A graphic picture is given of some of the pensions'^ of France. 
Best of all, a noble idea of education is inculcated in the minds of the 
young. 

Even in the youths of Berquin's dramas there is often a seriousness of 
purpose belonging to riper years, and a sense of responsibility in their prepar 
ration for the duties of manhood and womanhood. 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 

{^Education a la Mode) 
Dramatis PERSONiE^ 



M. Verteuil, guardian of Leonor 
and Didier. 

Didier, a nephew of Mme. Beau- 
mont. 



M. DuPAS, a dancing-master. 
Mme. Beaumont. 
LiEONOR, her niece. 
FiNETTE, a house servant. 



1 A pension is a French boarding school for boys or girls. 

2 The names of these personages are not Anglicized, but their pronunciation 
can be approximated with little difficulty by persons wholly unacquainted with 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 153 

Scene — A parlor in the residence of Mme. Beaumont. 

Mme. Beaumont (^receiving M. Verteuil^ who has just been 
announced). No, jNI. Verteuil, I can't excuse you. For five 
years you haven't come once to see either me or your ward. 

M. Verteuil. I acknowledge it, Madame ; but the cares of 
my property, my poor health, and my dread of the difficulties 
of the journey — 

Mme. Beaumont. Fifteen miles — that's an immense journey, 
really ! 

M. Verteuil. It is a long way for me, since I don't go about 
easily. My infirmities don't allow me to run around the coun- 
try or to hope to make a long trip. 

Mme. Beaumont. And to what do we owe your brave resolu- 
tion at last ? 

M. Verteuil. To the desire of seeing the children of my late 
friend, L^onor and Didier. 

Mme. Beaumont. Ah, L^onor, L^onor! One should be 
willing to traverse the world to see her for even a moment. 
Such talent ! Such spirit ! 

M. Verteuil. You awaken in me a strong desire to know 
her. Where is she ? I must have the pleasure of greeting 
her. 

Mme. Beaumont. She is still at her toilet. 

M. Verteuil. At this hour ? And Didier — why has he not 
come from the Pension to your house to meet me ? 

Mme. Beaumont. It was rather late, yesterday, when you 
announced j^our visit. The servants have been very busy this 
morning, and the chambermaid has not been able to leave my 
niece for a moment. 

M. Verteuil. Do me this kindness to send at once for 
Didier. In the meantime, I will go upstairs and see his 
sister. 

French, as follows : M. Verteuil (moce-yur' vair-tul', the u being sounded as in 
furl) ; Didier (deed-e-a') ; M. Dupas (moce-yur' du-pah') ; Mme. Beaumont 
(mah-dahm' Bo-mon') ; L6onor (la^o-nor') ; Finette (fin-et'). 



154 ABNAUD BEBQUIN 

Mme. Beaumont. No, no, my dear Verteuil; you would startle 
her so. I'll go and precede you. (^She goes out.) 

M. Verteuil. From what I see, Madame Beaumont is rear- 
ing her niece as she herself was reared — to dress herself up 
like a doll, and to be always parading. I hope, indeed, that 
these frivolities have not caused her to neglect more important 
concerns. 

Mme. Beaumont (reentering). She will be down in a 
moment. She has only a feather to adjust. 

M. Verteuil. What, a feather? And do you believe a 
feather more or less would disturb me at all ? Her eagerness 
to see me should be as great as mine, should it not ? 

Mme. Beaumont. Certainly as great. It is the desire that 
she has to please you — 

M. Verteuil. Probably it is not by means of her plume that 
she expects to succeed in that. And have you had the kind- 
ness to send for your nephew ? 

Mme. Beaumont (with an air of impatience). O, my nephew? 
You will always have time enough to see him. 

M. Verteuil. You speak as though I should not take much 
satisfaction with him. 

Mme. Beaumont. I don't say that he is downright bad, but 
he is so disagreeable. 

M. Verteuil. How so ? Is he unpolished, rough, coarse ? 

Mme. Beaumont. Not altogether; they say that his head is 
already furnished with a quantity of wise matters; but as for 
grace, high tone, the flower of gentility — 

M. Verteuil. If that's all, he will soon develop. And what 
of his heart? 

Mme. Beaumont. I don't believe it's very good or very bad. 
But L^onor — how she is adorned with perfections ! How 
engaging are her manners I I don't see Didier very often. 

M. Verteuil. And why not? 

Mme. Beaumont. For fear of interrupting him in his studies. 
Ah, well, when he is here I don't find him very attentive to 
the lessons he receives on how to behave. He no more knows 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 155 

how to express himself with gracefuhiess ! I have left him, 
sometimes, in a group of ladies. He has not found a single 
happy witticism to offer. 

M. Verteuil. Very likely the conversation turned upon 
matters with which he was unacquainted. 

Mme, Beaumont. A well-bred young man ought not to find 
any subject foreign to him among ladies. 

M. Verteuil. A modest silence is very becoming at his age. 
It is now his place to listen and learn, so as to qualify himself 
to talk when his time comes. 

Mme. Beaumont. Gracious ! Do you wish to make a doll of 
him — a doll that isn't able to work until its wheel work is 
wound up ? Ah, you must hear L^onor prattle. She possesses 
such ease, such spirit, such life — a person is scarcely able to 
follow her words. 

M. Verteuil.* We shall see who is the more worthy of my 
affection. You remember that I promised their father to regard 
them as my own family. I wish to redeem that sacred promise. 
Since I cannot tell how much more of life remains to me on 
earth, I have come here to see the children, to learn their char- 
acter, and to decide, accordingly, the final disposition of prop- 
erty that I am to make in their favor. 

Mme. Beaumont. Ah, most faithful and generous of men ! 
My brother, even in his grave, will feel touched by your kind- 
ness. As for me, how can I express my gratitude in behalf of 
the children? 

M. Verteuil. What you call a kindness is only a duty. 
Your worthy father long ago caused me to share the happy 
education which he gave to his son. It is to his care that I 
owe the fortune which I have acquired. I have no children of 
my own. His little ones belong to me, and they have a right, 
during my life and after my death, to the property which I 
have sought to amass only to enrich them. 

Mme. Beaumont. In that case L^onor, as the more lov- 
able — 

M. Verteuil. If I make any distinction, it will not be 



156 ABNAUB BERQUIN 

because of frivolous accomplishments, but it will be real quali- 
ties and virtues which will decide my preferences. 

Mme. Beaumont. Ah, see who is coming. (^Enter Leonor^ 
dressed in a manner beyond her station and her means.^ 

M. Verteuil (^surprised^ . What, is that Leonor ? 

Mme. Beaumont. You are surprised, I see, to find her so 
charming. (^To LSonor.) You have kept us waiting, my 
child. 

LSonor (making a eeremoyiious salutation to M. Verteuil). 
That is because Finette has never any success in arranging my 
plumes. I have had her change and rearrange them ten 
times, at least. At last I sent her away in vexation, and 
dressed my own hair. I am delighted, M. Verteuil, to see 
you in good health. 

M. Verteuil (advancing to her., and extending his arms). As 
for me, my dear Ldonor — (She turns away witK a scornful air.) 
What, are you afraid to receive me as a father ? 

Mme. Beaumont. Yes, Ldonor, as your father and benefac- 
tor. (To M. Verteuil.) You must pardon her, I beg; she 
has been reared in such modesty and reserve. 

M. Verteuil. She should not be at all shocked to receive 
the expressions of my friendship. I owe her, moreover, a 
gentle reproach for having delayed so long to satisfy my 
impatience. 

LSonor. Excuse me, sir; I was not in a situation to be able 
to appear before you with propriety. 

M. Verteuil. A young lady should always be able to appear 
with propriety before a sincere man. A modest and suitable 
morning wrapper is all that is needed for that in the house. 

Mme. Beaumont. Yes, but to receive a guest like yourself, 
respect requires — 

M. Verteuil. A feather less, and more eagerness to greet 
a friend who has come fifteen miles to see her. I declare I 
should have been at heart a thousand times more flattered to 
see my children — for they are mine by the affection they 
inspire, and by my friendship for their father — to see them, I 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 157 

say, running to me with open arms, and overwhelming me with 
their tender caresses. 

Mme. Beaumont. It is the reverence with which you have 
inspired them — 

M. Verteuil. We won't talk any more about it. You will 
receive me with more friendship another time, won't you, 
my dear L donor ? 

Leonor. I shall be highly honored. 

M. Verteuil. But how you have developed since I have seen 
you. An elegant figure, manners at ease, elevated deportment — 

Mme. Beaumont. Charming! Delightful! 

M. Verteuil. All these advantages, however, are nothing 
without the graces of modesty, the charm of affability, the 
ingenuous expression of the feelings of the heart, and the cul- 
tivation of spiritual gifts. 

Mme. Beaumont. Ah, yes — of those gifts which secure 
consideration in the great world. 

M. Verteuil. In the great world, Madame ? Is that where 
Ldonor should appear ? If she should possess only the qualities 
which can honor her in a select circle, and in the interior of 
her own home, in her own conscience, and in the sight of God, 
I should ask nothing more. 

Mme. Beaumont. O, certainly, M. Verteuil ; that is under- 
stood. I wish to say that she is in a position to be presented 
anywhere with honor. Come, my dear child, let us hear some 
pretty piece on the piano. 

Leonor. No, Auntie, that might displease M. Verteuil. 

M. Verteuil. What do you say, my dear child ? I am very 
sensible to the charms of music, and I know of no amusement 
more suited to a young lady. 

Mme. Beaumont. And what is more worthy of our admira- 
tion than those enchanting gifts, drawing, dancing, and music ? 
Leonor, let us sing that charming arietta. (^Leonor goes with 
a pouting air to the piano., and plays a brief prelude^ then com- 
mences a sonata.) No, no, you must sing, also. She has such 
a voice, M. Verteuil. You shall hear her. If you only knew 



158 ABNAUD BEBQUIN 

what applause she received at the last concert ! But she has 
a little vanity, and we must urge her a good deal. 

M. Verteuil. I very much hope I shall be favored without 
such a ceremony. How is it, Leonor ? 

Leonor. You have only to command, sir. 

M, Verteuil. No, that is not my way. I only request. 

Leonor. {Low^ to her aunt, while opening her exercise book in 
vexation.} I am much obliged to you for this, truly ! 

Mme. Beaumont. (^Low to Leonor.) For mercy's sake, 
child, obey. Your fortune depends upon it. 

M. Verteuil. If she has no voice to-day, I can wait. (^Leo- 
nor sings to an accompaniment on the piano : 

Vermeil rose, 

That the zephyr, etc. 

She has scarce finished when Mme. Beaumont cries^ clapping 
her hands, — ) Bravo ! Bravo I 

M. Verteuil. Really, that is not bad for a child of her age. 
I should have preferred a song more in accordance with the 
principles which you inspire in her, no doubt. 

Mme. Beaumont. Ah, indeed. Monsieur ! Don't you per- 
ceive the moral of it ? (^She sings.} 

But on thy stem 

Thou wilt languish and wither, etc. 

It means that a young person should advance herself in the 
world if she means to reap any advantage from her gifts, and 
not to die unknown in the depths "of her seclusion. 

M. Verteuil. Believe me, Madame, there it is that one 
worthy to be her husband would go to seek her. (5e notices a 
drawing on the wall, represejiting a young shepherdess, surprised 
in her sleep hy a faun. Se views it with surprise.} 

Mme. Beaumont. Ah, how do you like it ? 

M. Verteuil. Very well — if Leonor made it herself, with- 
out the aid of her teacher. 

Mme. Beaumont. To tell the truth, he did touch it up a 
little. 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 159 

M. Verteuil. I believe he would have done better to choose 
a happier subject, — some trait of benevolence, some virtuous 
action which would have elevated the soul while perfecting 
the talent. 

(Finette enters.^ 

Finette. Sir, your trunks are coming. Shall I have them 
carried to your room ? 

M. Verteuil (to Mme. Beaumont). You have, then, the kind- 
ness to have me lodge with you, Madame ? 

Mme. Beaumont. With as much honor as pleasure to me. 

M. Verteuil. Thank you ; I'll go and have an eye to the 
matter, and come back. (^He goes out with Finette.) 

Leonor. Good ! He's gone. I'll breathe again. 

Mme. Beaumont. Softly, softly, Leonor ; he might hear you. 

LSonor. Let him hear me if he wants to ! I am so pro- 
voked, that I could smash my piano and my drawings and my 
exercise book all to pieces. 

Mme. Beaumont. Be quiet, my child ; you have need here 
for all your moderation. 

Leonor. I think it's enough to keep me in his company. 
Haven't you noticed ? Haven't you heard? 

Mme. Beaumont. People of his age have their eccentricities. 

Leonor. Why bother me with them ? It wasn't necessary 
for me to sing to him. I didn't wish to do so. Just see how 
you always go ahead ! But he will come back. 

Mme. Beaumont. My dear Leonor, I pray you, — perhaps you 
don't know that your fortune depends wholly upon M. Verteuil. 

Leonor. My fortune ? 

Mme. Beaumont. Yes, alas ! Must I tell you what you 
already owe to his bounty ? 

Leonor. O, yes, I know, those little presents he has sent 
me from time to time. I can get along very well without his 
little boxes. 

Mme. Beaumont. Ah, my dear child, without him you would 
be unhappy, indeed. What your father left to you for an in- 



160 ARNAUD BEBQUIN 

lieritance is so little ! As for me, I have only very moderate 
means. How would I be able, with my slender resources, to 
make the outlay for your education ? 

Leonor. Is it possible, Auntie ? What, is it to him that 
I am indebted ? Does he care for my brother also ? 

Mme. Beaumont. It is he who pays both for his board and 
for his tuition. 

Leonor, You have always concealed this from me. 

Mme. Beaumont. Since you were never in need, what did 
it matter that you should know this ? You see, now, how 
necessary it is to manage him and to show him consideration 
and respect. But that is not all. He has desired to see you 
— your brother and yourself — before writing his will, in order 
to determine his bequests in your favor. 

Leonor. How sorry I am that I manifested so much ill- 
humor and vexation ! 

Mme. Beaumont. It was bad of him, also, to listen so 
coolly to your brilliant voice, and not be delighted with your 
execution upon the piano. Whatever he may be, we must 
flatter him ; otherwise his preference will be for Didier. 

LSonor. Ah, he deserves it better than I do, I know. 

Mme. Beaumont. What are you saying ? Do yourself more 
justice. It's very little you know. And what will be your 
destiny ? A man can always make his way in the world. But 
a woman — what resource has she ? 

Leonor. It is true. You make me feel that I ought to learn 
things more useful than drawing," dancing, and music. 

Mme. Beaumont. How foolish you are. With the fortune 
that you can hope for, what more ought a young lady to 
desire than agreeable gifts to shine in society ? It is necessary 
only to interest M. Verteuil in your favor. With some atten- 
tions and courtesies, we shall accomplish what we want. 

(^Finette enters.) 

Finette. Mademoiselle, M. Dupas is in waiting to give you 
a lesson. 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 161 

Mme. Beaumont. Tell him to come up here. (^Finette walks 

Leonor. No, Auntie, send him back, I beg. If I should 
farther displease M. Verteuil ! 

Mme. Beaumont. What is that ? He must see you dance. 
You dance with such grace. You will turn his head, I am 
sure. (^She goes to the door,) Come in, come in, M. Dupas. 
(^M. Dupas enters.) Isn't it true, Monsieur, that my niece 
dances marvelously ? 

M. Dupas (^nodding). Wonderfully, Madame, wonderfully. 

Mme. Beaumont. Her instructor will assist her a little, per- 
haps, in the lesson. Have a care. Monsieur, to make Leonor 's 
talent shine in all its brightness. 

M. Dupas. Yes, Madame, and my own, also. I'll answer 
for that. 

(Jf! Verteuil enters.) 

Mme. Beaumont (taking M. Verteuil hy the hand). Come 
and have a seat by me, M. Verteuil. I want you to see Leonor 
dance. She is a veritable zephyr. M. Dupas, that new Ger- 
man of your own composition. 

Leonor. But I won't dance all alone. 

Mme. Beaumont. M. Dupas will dance it with you, and I'll 
hum it. Don't be afraid. I'll accompany you well. 

M. Verteuil. Allow me, Madame, to express a preference 
for a minuet. 

M. Dupas. I'll not be able to throw much grace into it if I 
have to play at the same time. 

M. Verteuil. It is not your ability that matters. Monsieur, 
but Leonor's. 

M. Dupas. As it suits you. Monsieur. Come, Mademoi- 
selle. (Leonor dances the minuet. M. Dupas follows her in it, 
playing with his pochette.^ He stops from time to time, to say to 
her — ) Raise your head higher ; the shoulders back. Move 

1 A pochette is a small violin which can be carried in the pocket, and is used 
by dancing masters who visit the homes of the wealthy to give private lessons, 

SCH. IN COM. — 11 



162 ABNAUD BERQUIN 

your arms gently. Keep the step. A genteel air — watch 
me. 

M. Verteuil (when the minuet is finished). Very well, Leonor, 
very well. (^To M. Bupas.) Monsieur, your lesson is finished 
for to-day. (M. Dupas makes a low how to the company and 
retires,) 

Leonor (speaking in a low tone to Mme. Beaumont). Well, 
Auntie, do you see what great compliments I have received ? 

Mme. Beaumont. What, M. Verteuil, aren't you charmed, 
enchanted, carried away ? Surely you have not paid attention, 
or else you are so fatigued by your journey — 

M. Verteuil. Excuse me, Madame, I have already spoken 
of my satisfaction to Leonor. But would you have me go into 
ecstasies over a little dance ? I am reserving my enthusiasm 
for accomplishments more worthy to call it forth. 

(Didier enters.) 

Didier (rushing into the parlor, runs to M. Verteuil., jumps up 
to his neck, and clasps him affectionately). O my dear M. 
Verteuil, my guardian, my father, how glad I am to see you 1 

Mme. Beaumont. What do you mean by this sauciness ? Is 
it necessary to suffocate your friends ? 

M. Verteuil. Never mind, Madame ; excess of joy flatters 
me more than cold and formal courtesies. Come, my dear 
Didier, let me clasp you to my heart. What sweet remem- 
brances you bring to me. Yes, here are the noble features and 
the pleasing form that characterized your father. 

Mme. Beaumont (to Didier). Why have *you not put on 
your new coat and your velvet vest ? People don't visit in 
round jackets. 

Didier. But, Auntie, I should have lost at least a quarter 
of an hour in dressing, and I should not have the patience to 
wait. 

M. Verteuil. I should have been very sorry, I'm sure, to 
wait a quarter of an hour longer to see this fine boy. 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 163 

Mme. Beaumont (to Didier^. Well, Monsieur, haven't you 
anything to say to us — to your sister and me? You haven't 
even said "Good morning." 

Didier. Please excuse me, my dear Auntie, I was so de- 
lighted to greet my guardian. (To Leonor, whose hand he 
takes.} You are not offended with me on that account, are 
you, Leonor ? 

Leonor (dryly). No, Monsieur. 

M. Verteuil. Excuse him, Madame, for my sake. I should 
be sorry to be the cause of any reproach for him. 

Mme. Beaumont (aside}. I shall not be able to contain m}^- 
self much longer. (To M. Verteuil.) Will you excuse me. 
Monsieur ? I have some orders to give about the house. 

M. Verteuil. Don't discommode yourself, I beg. 

Mme. Beaumont (in a low tone to Leonor). Can you endure 
to hear this insufferable talk? (Aloud.) Follow me, Leonor; 
I need you. 

LSonor. No, Auntie, I'll remain with M. Verteuil, if he'll 
kindly permit me. 

M. Verteuil. Very gladly, my child. (Mme. Beaumont retires 
in vexation.) 

M. Verteuil. Well, my dear Didier, are they satisfied with 
you at the Pension? 

Didier. That is- for my teacher to say. However, I don't 
believe there is any dissatisfaction. 

M. Verteuil. What are you studying, now ? 

Didier. Greek and Latin, to start with ; then geography, 
history, and mathematics. 

Leonor (aside). A number of things of which I scarcely 
know the names ! 

M. Verteuil. And are you making any progress ? 

Didier. O, the more I learn, the more I see that I have yet 
to learn. However, I am not behind my schoolmates. 

M. Verteuil. How about drawing, dancing, and music ? 

Didier. A little of these, also. I apply myself more to 
music and drawing in summer, because our teacher says we 



164 ABNAUB BEBQUIN 

should not exercise much then. To make up, in the winter time 
I practice dancing more, because the exercise is better for me 
then. 

M. Verteuil. That seems to me to be wise. 

Didier. Besides, I cannot give much time to them. I turn 
to them very little except in my hours of recreation, or after I 
have finished my work. The essential thing, according to our 
teacher, is to cultivate the heart and to store the mind with 
knowledge, to live honorably in the world, to make myself use- 
ful to my country and to my fellows, and to be happy myself 
by this means. 

M. Verteuil (taking him in his arms). Embrace me, my 
dear Didier. 

Leonor (aside). If that's the essential thing. Auntie has 
neglected it very much. 

Didier. O, my dear M. Verteuil, perhaps I am not really 
so good as you imagine. 

M. Verteuil. How so, my friend ? 

Didier. I am a little giddy, a little careless. For example, 
I mix up my hours, sometimes, and I do at one time what I 
ought to do at another time. I find it hard to break some bad 
habits, and I fall back shortly into faults which I have repented 
oftentimes. 

M. Verteuil. And you fall back into them again ? 

Didier. No, indeed, if I think of it ; but I almost always 
forget my good resolutions. 

M. Verteuil. I am not at all anxious, my friend, since you 
notice your own faults. To know one's faults is the first step 
to improvement. What do you think, Leonor ? 

LSonor. 1 think I am not giddy nor careless, and I have 
not the faults of my brother. 

M. Verteuil. But others, perhaps ? 

LSonor. Auntie has never told me of them. 

M. Verteuil. She ought to be the first to perceive them. 
But affection sometimes blinds us to the defects of our friends. 
I do not say this to make you feel bad. 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 165 

LSonor (aside). What a detestable man ! He flatters my 
brother, and he has nothing but disagreeable things to say 
to me. 

M. Verteuil. Stay here, children ; I am going to see if my 
servant has carried away the things in my valise. I have 
something for you, and I shall return soon. (He walks away.) 

Didier. Yes, we'll wait for you. Don't remain away long. 

Leonor. He can look after his presents. I believe he ha^ 
brought us something nice. 

Didier. What do you say, Leonor ? All that you have 
in your room, and all that you wear, comes from our dear bene- 
factor, does it not ? Ah, if he gives me only a trifle, 1 shall 
always remember his goodness. 

Leonor. No, I am so vexed with him, with myself, with 
Auntie, — I believe I am at war with the whole world. 

Didier. What, with me too ? What is the matter with 
you, poor Sister ? (He takes her hand.) 

Leonor. If you had been treated so shabbily ! 

Didier. You treated shabbily ? And by whom ? Auntie 
won't let you go out into the air for fear you'll take cold, and 
I believe she would gladly put her hands under your feet to 
keep you from touching the ground. 

Leonor. Yes, but M. Verteuil ; he is impolite. 

Didier. What are you saying. Sister ? Just the opposite. 
He is so indulgent, so good ! 

Leonor. I have done nothing to suit him. My singing, my 
drawing, my dancing, — it is all nothing to him. He depre- 
ciates everything I know, and talks to me of things that I 
ought to know. 

Didier. Well, Sister, I believe he is right. 

Leonor. He is right ? And Auntie is wrong, is she not ? 
What does he mean by essential things ? 

Didier. I can tell you, without being very wise myself. 

Leonor. Yes, you tell me. 

Didier. Tell me, Leonor, do you read sometimes ? 

Leonor. Of course, when I have time. 



166 ABNAUB BEEQUtN 

I) idler. And what do you read then ? 

LSonor. Comedies, to go to the theater ; or a large collec- 
tion of songs, to learn them by heart. 

Didier. Good reading for your age, I'm sure I Don't you 
think there are more instructive books ? 

Leonor. If there were, where should I find a moment to 
read them ? My morning toilet and my breakfast take my 
time till ten o'clock. Then comes my dancing master, and 
remains till eleven. After him comes my drawing teacher. 
We then have dinner. At four o'clock is my music lesson. 
Afterward, I dress myself for the evening. Perhaps we go 
out calling or receive visitors, and then the day is over. 

Didier. Is it the same every day ? 

Leonor. It is a fact. 

Didier. Well, my teacher has girls almost as large as you ; 
but they spend their time differently. 

Leonor. In what way. Brother ? 

Didier. To begin with, at six o'clock in the summer, and 
at seven in the winter, they are dressed for the whole day. 

Leonor. They don't sleep at all, then, or else they are stupid 
in the daytime. 

Didier. They are livelier than you are. They go to bed at 
nine o'clock. 

LSonor. In bed at nine o'clock ? 

Didier. Certainly they are, so as to rise early in the morn- 
ing. While you are still asleep they have already had recita- 
tions in geography, history, and mathematics. From ten o'clock 
to dinner time they have needlework, or else busy themselves 
with their mothers at housekeeping. 

LSonor (with an air of vexation'). Is it the intention to make 
housekeepers or seamstresses of them ? 

Didier. I hope that so good an education will bring to them 
a better fortune. But ought they not to know how to take 
charge of domestics, to order dinner, to manage a house- 
hold? 

LSonor. And in the afternoon — are they still busy ? 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 167 

Didier. Why shouldn't they be ? They have their writing 
and their music. In the evening they gather about a table, 
and one reads aloud, The Conversations of Emile ^ or The 
Theater of Education^ while the others make up the household 
linen or their own clothing. 

Leonor. Then they don't take any recreation ? 

Didier. What's that ? They amuse themselves better 
than queens. All their work is intermingled with playfulness 
and agreeable entertainments. They pay calls and receive 
them, but always with their work bag in hand. I have never 
seen them idle a minute. 

LSonor. O, that is evidently what M. Verteuil meant. 
Auntie says, however, that it is a commonplace education, 
which is suitable only for children of shopkeepers. 

Didier, Yes, such as we are. But even if they should 
possess an immense fortune, this training would not be useless 
to them. It is really important for them to know housework, 
in order to have their servants perform it. If they didn't 
know anything about it, everybody would cheat them; and the 
richer they were, the greater would be their misfortune. 

Leonor. You frighten me, Brother. I know absolutely 
nothing about such things. I scarcely know how to handle a 
needle. Nevertheless, I find that we have nothing except what 
we receive from M. Verteuil. 

Didier. So much the worse, Leonor dear; for if he should 
conclude to let us alone, or if we should have the misfortune 
to lose him — but perhaps Auntie is rich! 

Leonor. O, no, she is not. She has just told me so. She 
has scarcely enough for herself to live on. What should we 
do all by ourselves ? 

Didier. I should be somewhat perplexed at first, but I 
should put my trust in God, and I believe He would not 
abandon me. There are always generous people whose friend- 

1 The JSmile (a-meel') of Jean Jacques Rousseau (zhahn zhahc roo-so') is 
a work of great celebrity, which, like the books of Rabelais, has greatly influ- 
enced the educational world. 



168 AitnAUh BERQUIN 

ship we can win by our ability to do something, and who 
would be pleased to employ us. For example, in a few years, 
when I shall be a little more advanced in my studies, I shall 
be able to teach what I shall then know to children less ad- 
vanced. I learn more every day; and with courage, good 
conduct, industrious habits, and application, a person can 
open, sooner or later, a way that leads to fortune. 

Leonor. For my part, what good would my singing and 
music practice and drawing and dancing do to me ? I should 
die of misery with these unsubstantial accomplishments. 

Didier. You see why our guardian asked if we had been 
taught the things more useful than those which serve only for 
pleasure and entertainment. 

Leonor. Yes, and sometimes for chagrin; for when I dance, 
or when I play in company, if they don't praise me as much as 
I think I deserve, I am out of humor. I confess I am often 
much annoyed in this way. 

Didier. And how do you amuse yourself, then? 

LSonor. With fashions, jewelry, comedies, promenades, and 
town talk. We repeat in one house what we have heard in 
another ; but all that is ^oon exhausted. 

Didier. I have no doubt. These are very poor subjects 
when one thinks of all the admirable things that nature offers 
to our eyes, and of all that passes around about us in the great 
society of the world. There are things worthy of our atten- 
tion and which can teach us to reflect upon ourselves. 

Leonor. You have about convinced me. Although you are 
two years younger than I am, you are already better trained 
than I. O, how Auntie has neglected the useful things in my 
education ! 

(^Madame Beaumont enters.') 

Mme. Beaumont (who has heard the last words of Leonor), 
And what are the useful things that I have neglected in your 
education, you ungrateful child ? I see, it is this nonsense of 
Didier — 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 169 

Didier (very respectfully). Auntie dear, — I am going to 
see M. Verteuil in his room. (He retires.) 

Mme. Beaumont. The little rascal ! Let him think he can 
set his foot inside my house again, after his guardian is once 
gone ! But what has he told you to make you believe that your 
education has been neglected ? 

Leonor. It is altogether true. Auntie. Have you had me 
taught the necessary things that a well-bred person ought to 
know ! 

Mme. Beaumont. My dear Leonor, what do you lack of 
accomplishments ? You, who are the flower of all our young 
ladies ? 

Leonor. O, I understand the things which are fit only to 
make one proud. But those which cultivate the mind, — geog- 
raphy, history, mathematics, — have I even an idea of them ? 

Mme. Beaumont. All that is only pedantry, my child. I 
should be in despair to have made you tear your head to pieces 
with such trifles. They are good only for Latin scholars. 
Have you ever heard of anything of the sort in the circle of 
ladies into which I have introduced you ? 

LSonor. No, I agree with you there ; but why, at least, 
should I not learn the duties with which a woman ought to 
busy herself ? Do I know how to sew ? Would I be in a 
condition to take care of a household ? 

Mme. Beaumont. As for that, I haven't desired to make you 
a milliner or a seamstress. 

Lionor. But if we should happen to lose M. Verteuil, if I 
should fall into misfortune, what resource would I have for 
making a living ? 

Mme. Beaumont. O, if it comes to that, I can quiet your 
anxiety with a single word. You'll never be in want of 
money. You will swim in abundance. I have teased M. 
Verteuil so much to make you his heir, that he is going to 
make his will to-day, in your favor. But here he comes, him- 
self. I will leave you with him. He is going to tell you 
about his disposition of his estate. 



170 ARNAUB BERQUIN 

Scene, the same. 
M, Verteuil, Leonoi\ Didier. 

Bidier. Here, here. Sister. Look ! (^He shows her a watch.) 

LSonor. What, a gold watch ! 

Bidier. Yes, as you see. O, M. Verteuil, I am delighted. 
Will you let me go and show it to Auntie ? I'll run and return 
like the wind. 

M. Verteuil. I am very willing. Tell her that I have not 
given it to you childishly, to flatter your vanity, but to enable 
you to tell the time for your recitations and to prevent you 
from making mistakes about them. 

Bidier. O, that won't happen any more, now. 

M. Verteuil. Ask her to excuse you for the day, and tell 
her I'll be here this afternoon. 

Bidier. Very well, very well. {He runs out. LSonor ap- 
pears sad and thoughtful.) 

M. Verteuil. What is the matter with you, Leonor dear? 
Why do you seem so cast down ? 

Leonor. It is nothing, sir, nothing at all. 

M. Verteuil. Are you sorry that your brother has a watch ? 

Leonor. It will last him a long time, I think. He will do 
well to take care of it ! 

M. Verteuil. I am going to show him how, and it is not 
difficult. You know he has had great need of it. 

LSonor (in an ironical tone). ' For m}^ part, I don't need 
one, of course. 

M. Verteuil. So I have thought. There is a clock in the 
house. 

LSonor. Nevertheless, people in my station have watches 
also. 

M. Verteuil. So much the better; you can ask the time of 
them. 

LSonor. And when others ask it of me, I can tell them I 
don't know. 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 171 

M. Verteuil. L^onor, Leoiior, you are a little envious. l)Ut 
to show you that I have not forgotten you — (^Ile gives her 
a little box.') 

Leonor (hlusJiing). O, M. Verteuil! 

M. Verteuil. Well, you don't know how to open it. QHe opens 
it^ and takes out some diamond earrings.) Are you satisfied now ? 

Leonor. O, if you were as satisfied with me ! 

M. Verteuil. I can't conceal the fact that I am not, altogether. 
We are alone. I must speak freely. Your dear auntie has 
spared nothing to give you pleasing accomplishments. I 
recognize her care, her taste, and her tenderness. I only wish 
that she would take care to give you, at the same time, a more 
substantial training. 

LSonor, My brother has made me feel this already. But 
who is to teach me the things of which I am ignorant ? 

M. Verteuil. I know a worthy person who receives young 
ladies in a Pension., to train them in all things appropriate to 
your age and to your sex. 

Leonor. Auntie has told me, however, that you would place 
me above the need for these things. 

M. Verteuil. I understand. O, well, I leave you free to 
follow the sort of life which she has had you live, if it is in 
accordance with your taste. Rest easy as regards my care for 
you. After my death you shall possess all my property. 

Leonor. All your property, M. Verteuil ? 

M. Verteuil. Yes, Leonor ; alas, I am afraid it will not be 
sufficient to prevent your living in misery. 

Leonor. What do you mean ? 

M. Verteuil. Are you prepared to do to yourself the slightest 
service — to use your hands, and I'll not say to make the least 
part of your outer apparel, but your underclothing ? 

Leonor. I have never learned. 

M. Verteuil. Then you will find it necessary to have about 
you at all times a crowd of people to make up for your want of 
knowledge and for your idleness. Are you rich enough to 
support such an army ? 



172 ABNAUB BEBQVm i 

Leonor. You have already told me that I am not, M. Verteuil. 

M. Verteuil. Besides, when you come to mature age, what 
reasonable man would choose you for your idle accomplish- 
ments, which do not contribute to his happiness ? You would 
be sought for only for the fortune you might bring as a dowry. 
So I see more and more the necessity for my securing to you 
the property I have. 

Leonor. But my brother ? 

M. Verteuil. He ought to be well contented with what I 
shall do for him during my life, and with what you yourself 
would be very willing to do for him after my death. I want 
him to be trained in all honorable means of acquiring property. 
I have given him an example of this, and he has only to follow 
it. I leave you to think over my plans. I want to tell your 
brother of them as soon as he returns. (^He retires.) 

Leonor. O, how delightful ! Heiress to all of the property 
of M. Verteuil ! This is what Auntie has been so anxious to 
bring about. I should like to know what my brother will 
have to say about this. He will be jealous. But, of course, 
I'll not be forgetful of him, if there is anything left after all 
my needs are provided for. I hear M. Verteuil coming back 
with him. I'll hide in the closet, and listen to him. QShe 
goes out^ without being perceived hy either M. Verteuil or her 
brother. ) 

(iKf. Verteuil and Didier enter.) 

M. Verteuil. Your teacher is well pleased that I have given 
you the present ? 

Didier. Yes, my dear teacher — why, he's delighted; but, 
for my part, it troubles me, just now. 

M. Verteuil. How so, my friend ? 

Didier. Poor Leonor, perhaps she is grieved that I have a 
watch and she has none. I don't want to appear unapprecia- 
tive of your kindness, but if I dared to ask of you — 

M. Verteuil. Generous boy, be unconcerned. She has re- 
ceived some earrings, which are worth twice as much as your 
watch. 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 173 

Didier. O, my dear M. Verteuil, how I do thank you ! 

M. Verteuil. And I will not limit to these trifles the expres- 
sions of my friendship. 

Didier. Ah, so much better — so much better. 

M. Verteuil. I see with regret that her education is such as 
to cause her only mortification. 

Didier. O, Auntie dear imagines that a little drawing, 
dancing, and music are all in the world that is necessary to 
happiness. 

31. Verteuil. To these trifling accomplishments she sacrifices 
the care for the cultivation of her mind and the enlisting of her 
heart to those virtues which alone are able to win for her real 
consideration. Since the mind of L^onor has been neglected, 
she contents herself to-day with flattery by which the vanity is 
indulged. But when, in the course of years, she will see how 
useless is her training, and what precious time she has lost, she 
will blush for herself, and she will blame the unfaithful flatter- 
ers who will repay her reproaches with sneers and with anger. 

Didier. O, Monsieur, you make me tremble for her. 

M. Verteuil. And, further, whoever would be willing to 
assume the charge of a woman filled with pride and destitute 
of knowledge, who, far from being able to establish order and 
economy in a home, would destroy the most solid fortune by 
the taste for luxury joined to complete incapacity; equally 
unworthy the esteem of her husband, the attachment of friends, 
and the respect of her children ? She must live in the world a 
stranger to all around her. What would become of her then, 
without any aid? 

Didier. O, I pray you, don't withdraw your kindness. 

M. Verteuil. No ; on the contrary, I wish to assure her 
destiny from this day. 

Didier. Yes, my dear M. Verteuil, secure to her a more 
careful education. She is not wanting in intelligence, and I 
can vouch for the goodness of her heart. 

M. Verteuil. I should desire it. But in her indulgence, 
would she be able to adopt stricter principles ? No, I see that 



174 ABNAUB BEBQUIN 

it is necessary rather for me to charge myself with providing 
for her in the time when I shall be no more. 

Didier. Don't speak any more of that misfortune, I beg of 
you. Tears come to my eyes at the thought. No ; you will 
live a long time for our enjoyment. Heaven would not rob us 
of a second father so soon. 

M. Verteuil. I am sensible of your affection, but foreseeing 
death does not hasten the fatal time. Your sister's conduct 
causes me the keenest anxiety. In fact, I have made up my 
mind to leave to her all that I possess, so that she shall have 
means to preserve her from poverty. 

Didier (taking Mm hy the hand). O, I thank you a thou- 
sand and a thousand times. How delighted I am ! Shall I go 
and tell her the joyful news ? But no ; it would be better that 
she should not know of it. Let her learn, first, some useful 
things, as though she should have to earn her living. She will 
thus learn to manage her fortune more wisely. O, my dear 
Sister, I can hope to see you happy now. 

M. Verteuil. You are a worthy child. Your good sense does 
not please me less than your generosity. Come, my dear 
Didier, let me embrace you. I leave you nothing, and give all 
to your sister. How shall I be able to do such injustice ? The 
thought is far from my mind. I wished only to put you to the 
test. It is you who shall be the heir to all my property, and 'I 
shall make haste to make my will in your favor. 

Didier. No, no, M. Verteuil; keep your first intention. 
Leave all to my sister. I will accordingly become more stu- 
dious and more attentive. I will acquire useful training. I 
will be a faithful man. With that I am not worried about my 
advancement. 

M. Verteuil. Don't be anxious as to Leonor. I will leave 
her a little legacy, so that she will never be in want of neces- 
saries. 

Didier. O, well, let us make an exchange — the little legacy 
for me, as a testimonial of your friendship, and the remainder 
for my sister. 



FASHIONABLE EDUCATION 175 

(^Leonor rushes forth from the closet.) 

Leonor. O, my Brother, my dear Didier, have I deserved — 

Didier. All, my dear Leonor, if you respond to my wishes 
and to those of our Avorthy benefactor. 

Leonor. O, I will, I will. I see how much the difference in 
our education has raised your soul above mine, though I am 
the older. Do with me, M. Verteuil, according to your friend- 
ship. I wish also to school myself and to take my brother for 
a model. 

M. Verteuil. You will secure your happiness if you persist 
in that wise resolution. But whence arises this change in 
your ideas ? 

LSonor. O, I have heard the voice of Didier. His noble 
disinterestedness, his generous sacrifice- — I have heard all. I 
have no longer a feeling of jealousy toward him. He will 
always be my guide and my best friend. 

Didier. Yes, Sister, I wish to be. It will be my pride, my 
happiness. 

M. Verteuil. With what tender sentiments you move me, 
both of you. O, my dear friends, I feel no longer a regret at 
having no children. Henceforth yo-u will take the vacant 
place, for I feel the tenderest affection for you. 

(^Leonor and Didier entwine their arms about him^ their eyes 
bedewed with tears.) 

Leonor. Let us not lose a moment, my dear benefactor. 
Where is the person of whom you have spoken to me in refer- 
ence to a better education ? 

M. Verteuil. I will soon make you acquainted with her. I 
expect to remain several daj^s longer with you, to prepare the 
mind of your aunt by degrees to concur in my plans. We 
must be very careful not to offend her. She deserves always 
your respect and recognition. She is mistaken, Leonor, as to 
the real point of your welfare, but her most eager desire is, 
none the less, to make you happy. 



176 ABNAUD BEEQUIN 

Leonor. O, I realize that ; bat I renounce from this day all 
the vanities with which she has busied me. No more music, 
dancing, or drawing. 

M. Verteuil. No, my dear friend. Cultivate always the 
pleasing accomplishments, but remember only that they do not 
constitute all the merits of a woman. They enable her to bear 
a part agreeably in society, to rest from household cares, and 
to render it pleasanter at home ; to bind stronger the attach- 
ments of her husband, and to guide her in a choice of things 
to provide for her children, and to enhance their progress. 
They are to be feared only when they inspire in her an absurd 
vanity, and give her a taste for dissipations and a disgust for the 
essential duties of her station. They are flowers, to the culti- 
vation of which we must not give up all our farm, but which 
we may cultivate for pleasure along the side of the field which 
produces useful harvests. 



IV 

COLMAN 
EDGE WORTH 



SCH. IN COM. — 12 



COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

The world owes much to its humorists — those genial fellows who reveal 
to us our shortcomings without offense by portraying them in fictitious 
characters, and whose clever fancies provoke to mirth in hours of relaxation 
from care and labor. 

A prince of good fellows was George Colman ; a scholar, a wag, a bril- 
liant conversationalist (according to Byron), a man of society, a writer of 
funny doggerels and of dramas that will long endure. Yet it was not alto- 
gether a sunshiny life that he led. Shadows crossed his pathway, and he 
had, perhaps, his full share of life's sorrows and disappointments ; but 
through them all his happy humor never deserted him, and in his writings 
we find no trace of bitterness or of morbid discontent. 

The younger George Colman was born in 1762. His father (whose name 
was the same, and who is known as Colman the Elder) was a dramatist and 
a translator of the classics. When the son was yet a small child, the father 
became a shareholder in the famous Covent Garden Theater, in London, 
and acting manager of the same. Some years later, he purchased the Little 
Theater at the Haymarket. His life was a busy one. In his last years he 
published excellent English renderings of Horace's Epistle to the Pisos, and 
the Mercator of Plautus. He had the misfortune to lose his mind, once so 
active and powerful, and sank into hopeless idiocy before his death. 

Young Colman succeeded to his father's place as theatrical manager, at 
a salary of •'$3000 per annum, which was then a generous income. He was 
well qualified for the place, having been from infancy familiar with leading 
actors and their roles, and having been thoroughly educated in the best 
schools of the kingdom. He was, in youth, a preparatory student at 
Westminster, and studied diligently at Christ Church College, Oxford, and at 
King's College, Aberdeen. He also studied law at The Temple, in London. 

While at Aberdeen, he tried his hand at poetry, and wrote The Man of 
the People, which brought him little fame. At the age of twenty he pro- 
duced his first play, The Female Dramatists, based on Smollett's Roderick 
Random. This was a most humiliating failure. Not discouraged, however, 
he tried again, and scored a success in a drama entitled Two to One. 

He was appointed Examiner of Plays by the Duke of Montrose (then 
Lord Chamberlain). In 180.5 he achieved fame by the publication of the 

179 



180 COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

drama John Bull, for which he received a larger compensation than had 
ever been paid before for such a composition. This comedy and two others, 
The Poor Gentleman and The Heir at Law, are his best. 

Cohnan's career was beset with vicissitudes. For some years he was 
embarrassed by debt. But the evening of his life was happy; and, indeed, 
through all his career, he possessed a wealth which money could not buy, — 
a cheerful spirit, a refined taste, a liberal education. His doggerels, which 
were never very creditable, have been long forgotten ; but the world still 
laughs over his humorous dramas, and profits by his portraitures of char- 
acter. Colman the Younger died in 1836. 

" Of all the plays written by George Colman the Younger, there is not 
one that is seen with greater pleasure than The Heir at Law, or that affords 
more amusement to an audience. The characters of Dr. Pangloss, Lord 
and Lady Duberly, Zekiel Homespun, and Cicely are drawn with a truth 
and fidelity to nature not to be surpassed. The manly feeling of the honest 
countryman, whose plowman's fist is ready at all hazards to vindicate the 
wrongs of his sister, but who in the next moment receives to his heart that 
repentant friend whose head was turned by sadden good fortune, makes 
Zekiel Homespun a pattern of an honest farmer, whom all admire while 
they despise Dick Dowlas, the lawyer's clerk, and the chandler's son, for his 
attempt to ape the libertinism of nobility. Then the unsophisticated inno- 
cence of Cicely, whose love is not to be ^aken, but whose principles of 
virtue are equally strong, and proof against all the false allurements of 
wealth and fashion unaided by the true pledge of love, the wedding ring, — 
carries with her throughout the play the sympathy as well as admiration of 
the audience. 

" The ridiculous attempt of the uneducated shopman to mend his ' cakel- 
ology,' by the purchase of a whole library of books, written ' by one Tom/ 
is a source of great amusement ; while his Ladywiie, too, plays a most essen- 
tial part in the '■dramatis personcB.' The pedagogue and tutor, the LL.D. 
and A. double S., whose only ambition is to receive his pay — doubly, trebly, 
— for allowing all parties to do as they please, so that he be allowed to 
pocket ' nine hundred pounds a year,' although not to be met in real life, 
is a most humorous acquaintance upon the stage ; and his apt quotations 
prove the classical knowledge of the author.^ Dr. Pangloss is the pivot on 
which revolves all the fun of the play, and the ludicrous positions in which 
he is placed cause the sides of the audience to ache with laughter." 

— French's Standard Drama. 

1 Colman possessed that desirable degree of acquaintance with the classics 
which enabled liiin to quote them happily, and to appropriate their best thought, 
without overloading his mind with needless and paralyzing detail. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 181 

DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 

(Scenes from The Heir at Law) 
Dramatis PERSONiE 



Lord Duberly, alias Daniel Dow- 
las, formerly a small merchant in 
the village of Gosport. 

Dick Dowlas, his son. 



Dr. Pangloss, LL.D. and A.S.S., 

a tutor. 
Zekiel Homespun, a countryman. 
Waiter at the inn. 



Lady Duberly, alias Mrs. Dowlas. 
Cicely Homespun, sister of Zekiel. 

ACT I. 

Scene I. — An apartment in Lord Duberly' % house. 
{Lord and Lady Duberly discovered at breakfast.') 

Lord Duberly. But what does it matter, my Lady, whether 
I drink my tea out of a cup or a saucer ? 

Lady Duberly. A great deal in the polite circles, my Lord. 
We have been raised, by a strange freak of fortune, from 
nothing, as a body may say ; and — 

Lord Duberly. Nothing ! As reputable a trade as any in all 
Gosport. You hold a merchant as cheap as if he trotted about 
with all his property in a pack, like a peddler. 

Lady Duberly. A merchant, indeed ! Curious merchandise 
you dealt in, truly ! 

Lord Duberly. A large assortment of articles — coal, cloth, 
herrings, linen, candles, eggs, sugar, treacle, tea, bacon, and 
brick dust, with many more, too tedious to mention, in this 
here advertisement. 

Lady Duberly. Well, praise the bridge that carried you 
over ; but you must noAv drop the tradesman, and learn life. 
Consider, by the strangest accident you have been raised to 
neither more nor less than a peer of the realm. 



182 COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

Lord Buherly, Oil ! 'twas the strangest accident, my Lady, 
that ever happened on the face of the universal yearth. 

Lady Duherly. True, 'twas indeed a windfall ; and you 
must now walk, talk, eat, and drink as becomes your station. 
'Tis befit a nobleman should behave as sich, and know summut 
of breeding. 

Lord Buherly. Well, but I ha'n't been a nobleman more nor 
a week ; and my throat isn't noble enough yet to be proof 
against scalding. Hand over the milk, my Lady. 

Lady Duherly. Hand over ! Ah, what's bred in the bone 
will never come out of the flesh, my Lord. 

Lord Biiberly. Pshaw! here's a fuss, indeed ! When I was 
plain Daniel Dowlas of Gosport, I was reckoned as cute a dab 
at discourse as any in town. Nobody found fault with me 
then. 

Lady Duherly. But why so loud ? I declare, the servants 
will hear. 

Lord Duherly. Hear ! And what will they hear but what 
they know ? Our story a secret ! Lord help you ! Tell 'em 
Queen Anne's dead, my Lady. Don't everybody know old 
Duberly was supposed to die without any hair to his estate — 
as the doctors say, of an implication of disorders ; and that 
his son, Henry Morland, was lost, some time ago, in the 
salt sea ? 

Lady Duherly. Well, there's no occasion to — 

Lord Duherly. Don't everybody know that lawyer Ferret, 
of Furnival's Inn, owed the legatees a grudge, and popped a 
bit of an advertisement into the News : — " Whereas, The heir 
at law, if there be any reviving of the late Baron Duberly 
will apply " — so and so — "he'll hear summut greatly to his 
advantage ? ' ' 

Lady Duherly. But why bawl it to the — 

Lord Duherly. Didn't he hunt me out, to prove my title, 
and lug me from the counter to clap me into a coach, a house 
here in Hanover Square, and an estate in the country, worth 
fifteen thousand per annum ? Why, bless you, my Lady, every 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 183 

little black clavil with a soot bao- cries it about the streets as 
often as he says ''sweep." 

Lady Buherly. 'Tis a pity but my Lord had left you some 
manners with his money. 

Lord Buherly. He ! What, my cousin twenty thousand 
times removed? He must have left them by word of mouth. 
Never spoke to him but once in all my born life — upon an 
electioneering matter. That's a time when most of your proud 
folks makes no bones of tippling with a; tallow chandler in his 
back room, on a melting day ; but he ! Except calling me 
Cousin and buying a lot of damaged huckaback to cut into 
kitchen towels, he was as cold and as stiff as he is now, though 
he has been dead and buried these nine months, rot him ! 

Lady Buherly. There again now ! Rot him ! 

Lord Buherly. Why, blood and thunder ! What is a man 
to say when he wants to consecrate his old stiff-rumped rela- 
tions ? (^Rings the hell. ) 

Lady Buherly. Why, an oath now and then may slip in, 
to garnish genteel conversation, but then it should be done 
with an air to one's equals, and with a kind of careless con- 
descension to menials. 

Lord Buherly. Should it ? Well, then, — Here, John ! 

(^Enter John. ) 

My good man, take away the tea, and be d to you. 

John. Yes, my Lord. QExit.) 

Lady Buherly. And now, my Lord, I must leave you for 
the concerns of the day. We elegant people are as full of 
business as an egg's full of meat. 

Lord Buherly. Yes, we elegant people find the trade of the 
tone^ as they call it, plaguy fatiguing. What, you are for 
the wis a wis this morning ? Much good may it do you, my 
Lady. D — n me, it makes me sit stuck up, and squeezed like 
a bear in a bathing tub. 

Lady Buherly. I have a hundred places to call at. Folks 



184 COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

are so civil since we came to take possession ! There's dear 
Lady Littlefigure, Lord Sponge, Mrs. Holdbank, Lady Betty 
Pillory, the Hon. Mrs. Cheatwell, and — 

Lord Duherly. Aye, aye ; you may always find plenty in 
this here town to be civil to fifteen thousand a year, my Lady. 

Lady Duherly. Well, there's no learning you life. I'm 
sure they are as kind and friendly ! The supper Lady Betty 
gave to us and a hundred friends must have cost her fifty 
good pounds, if it cost a brass farden ; and she does the same 
thing, I'm told, three times a week. If she isn't monstrous 
rich, I wonder, for my part, how she can afford it. 

Lord Buberly, Why, ecod, my Lady, that would have 
puzzled me too, if they hadn't hooked me into a d — d game of 
cocking and punting, I think they call it, where I lost as much 
in half a hour as would keep her and her company in fricassees 
and whip sullibubs for a fortnight. But I may be even with 
her some o' these a'ternoons. Only let me catch her diit put ; 
that's all. 

(^Enter John.) 

John. Doctor Pangloss is below, my Lord. 

Lord Duherly. Oddsbobs, my Lady ! That's the man as 
learns me to talk English. 

Lady Duherly. Hush ! Consider — ^Pointing to John.) 

Lord Duherly. Hum ! I forgot — Curse me, my honest fel- 
low, show him up stairs ; d'ye hear ? (^Exit John.) There I 
Was that easy ? 

Lady Duherly. Tolerable. 

Lord Duherly. Well, now, get along, my Lady ; the Doc- 
tor and I must be snug. 

Lady Duherly. Then I bid you good morning, my Lord. 
As Lady Betty says, I wish you a hon repos.^ (Exit.) 

Lord Duherly. A hon reposf I don't know how it is, but 
the women are more cuter at these here matters nor the men. 
My wife, as everybody may see, is as genteel already as if she 

1 Good night. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 185 

had been born a duchess. This Doctor Pangloss will do me a 
deal of good in the way of fashioning my discourse. So here 
he is. 

(^Enter Pangloss.^ 

Doctor, good morning — I wish you a hon repos ! Take a 
chair, Doctor. 

Pangloss. Pardon me, my Lord ; I am not inclined to be 
sedentary. I wish with permission, — 

" erectus ad sidera tollere vultusJ" ^ 

— Ovid. Hem ! 

Lord Duherly. Tollory vultures ! I suppose that that means 
you had rather stand ? 

Pangloss. Fye, this is a locomotive morning with me. Just 

hurried, my Lord, from the Society of Arts; whence, I may 

say, 

"T have borne my blushing honors thick upon me." 

— Shakspeare. Hem ! 

Lord Duherly. And what has put your honors to the blush 
this morning. Doctor ? 

Pangloss. To the blush ! A ludicrous perversion of the 
author's meaning — he ! he ! he ! Hem ! You shall hear, my 

Lord ; 

"Lend me your ears." 

— Shakspeare, again. Hem ! 'Tis not unknown to your Lord- 
ship and the no less literary world that the Caledonian Uni- 
versity of Aberdeen ^ long since conferred upon me the dignity 
of LL.D. ; and as I never beheld that erudite body, I may 
safely say they dubbed me with a degree from sheer considera- 
tions of my celebrity. 

Lord Duherly. True. 

Pangloss. For nothing, my Lord, but my own innate mod- 
esty could suppose that Scotch college to be swayed by one 

1 To hold my face up, towards the stars. 

2 There is no institution of this name at Aberdeen. 



186 COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

pound fifteen shillings and three pence three farthings, paid, 
on receiving my diploma, as a handsome compliment to the 
numerous and learned head of that seminary. 

Lord Duherly. Oh, d — n it, no ; it wasn't for the matter 
of money. 

Pangloss. I do not think it was altogether the 

" A uri sacra fames" ^ 

— Vergil. Hem ! but this very day, my Lord, at eleven o'clock, 
A.M., the Society of Arts, in consequence, as they were 
pleased to say, of my merits, — he ! he ! he ! — my merits^ my 
Lord — have admitted me as an unworthy member ; and I 
have henceforward the privilege of adding to my name the 
honorable title of A. double S. 

Lord Duherly. And I make no doubt. Doctor, but you have 
richly deserved it. I warrant a man doesn't get A. double S. 
tacked to his name for nothing. 

Pangloss. Decidedly not, my Lord. Yes, I am now Artium 
Societatis Socius.^ My two last publications did that business. 

" Exegi monumentum cere perennius." ^ 

— Horace. Hem ! 

Lord Duherly. And what might them there two books be 
about. Doctor ? 

Pangloss. The first, my Lord, was a plan to lull the rest- 
less to sleep by an infusion of opium into their ears. The 
efficacy of this method originally struck me in St. Stephen's 
chapel, while listening to the oratory of a worthy country 
gentleman. 

Lord Duherly. I wonder it wa'n't hit upon before by the 
doctors. 

Pangloss. Physicians, my Lord, put their patients to sleep 
in another manner. He ! he ! he ! 

" To die — to sleep ; no more." 

1 The accursed thirst for gold. 2 pellow of the Society of Arts. 

3 I have erected a monument more enduring than bronze. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 187 

— Sliakspeaie. Hem ! My second treatise was a proposal for 
erecting dove houses, on a principle tending to increase the 
propagation of pigeons. This, I may affirm, has received con- 
siderable countenance from many who move in the circles of 

fashion. 

" Nee gemere cessahit turtur" ^ 

— Vergil. Hem ! I am about to publish a third edition, by 
subscription. May I have the honor to pop your Lordship 
down among the pigeons ? 

Lord Buherly. Aye, aye ; down with me. Doctor. 

Pa7igloss. My Lord, I am grateful. I ever insert names 
and titles at full length. What may be your Lordship's spon- 
sorial and patronymic appellations? (^Taking out his pocket- 
book.') 

Lord Duherly. My what ? 

Pangloss. I mean, my Lord, the designations given to you 
by your Lordship's godfathers and parents. 

Lord Duherly. Oh! What? My Christian and surname ? I 
was baptized Daniel. 

Pangloss. 

" Abolens baptismate labem."^ 

I forget where — No matter. Hem ! The Right Honorable 
Daniel — (^writing). 

Lord Duherly. Dowlas. 

Pangloss (writing). Dowlas — 

" Filthy Dow ! ' 

Hem ! Shakspeare. The Right Honorable Daniel Dowlas, 
Baron Duberly. And now, my Lord, to your lesson for the 
day. (They sit.) 

Lord Duherly. Now for it. Doctor. 

Pangloss. The process Avhich we are now upon, is to erad- 
icate that blemish in your Lordship's language which the 

1 The turtledove will not cease to sigh. " Effacing the stain by baptism. 



188 COLMAN THE YOU jY GEE 

learned denominate cacology^ and which the vulgar call slip- 
slop. 

Lord Duherly. I'm afraid, Doctor, my cakelology will give 
you a tolerable tight job on't. 

Pangloss. 

" Nil desperandum." ^ 

— Horace. Hem ! we'll begin in the old way, my Lord. Talk 
on ; when you stumble, I check. Where was your Lordship 
yesterday evening ? 

Lord Duherly. At a consort. 

Pangloss, Umph I Tete-d-tete with Lady Duberly, I pre- 
sume. 

Lord Duherly, Tete-d-tSte with five hundred people, hearing 
of music. 

Pangloss, Oh ! I conceive. Your Lordship would say a 
concert. Mark the distinction ; a concert^ my Lord, is an 
entertainment visited by fashionable lovers of harmony. Now 
a consort is a wife — little conducive to harmony in the present 
day, and seldom visited by a man of fashion unless she happens 
to be his friend's or his neighbor's. 

Lord Duherly. A D — 1 of a difference, indeed ! Between 
you and I, Doctor (now my Lady's out of hearing), a wife is 
the D— 1. 

Pangloss. He ! he! he! There are plenty of Jobs in the 
world, my Lord. 

Lord Duherly, And a d — d sight of Jezebels, too. Doctor. 
But patience, as you say — for I never gives my Lady no bad 
language. Whenever she gets in her tantrums and talks high, 
I always sits mumchance. 

Pangloss. 

" So spake our mother Eve, and Adam heard." 

— Milton. Hem! (^They rise.) Silence is most secure, my 
Lord, in these cases ; for if once your Lordship opened your 
mouth, 'tis twenty to one but bad language would follow. 

i Nothing is to be despaired of. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 180 

Lord Buherly. Oh, that's a sure thing ; and' I never liked to 
disperse the women. 

Pangloss. J.s-perse. 

Lord Buherly. Humph ! There's another stumble ! After 
all, Doctor, I shall make but a poor progress in my vermicular 
tongue. 

Pangloss, Your knowledge of our native, or vernacular lan- 
guage, my Lord, time and industry may meliorate. Vermicular 
is an epithet seldom applied to tongues, but in the case of 
puppies who want to be wormed. 

Lord Buherly. Ecod, then I a'n't so much out. Doctor. I've 
met plenty of puppies since I came to town, whose tongues are 
so troublesome that worming might chance to be of service. 
But, Doctor, I've a bit of a proposal to make to you, concern- 
ing my own family. 

Pangloss. Disclose, my Lord. 

Lord Buherly. Why, you must know, I expect my son 
Dicky in town this here very morning. Now, Doctor, if you 
would but mend his cakelology, mayhap it might be better 
worth while than the mending of mine. 

Pangloss. I smell a pupil. (Aside.) Whence, my Lord, does 
the young gentleman come ? 

Lord Buherly. You shall hear all about it. You know. 
Doctor, though I'm of good family distraction — 

Pangloss. Ex. 

Lord Buherly. Though I'm of a good family extraction, 
'twas but t'other day I kept a shop at Gosport. 

Pangloss. The rumor has reached me. 

" Fama volat viresque." ^ 

Lord Buherly. Don't put me out. 
Pangloss. — Vergil. Hem ! proceed. 

Lord Buherly. A tradesman, you know, must mind the main 
chance ; so when Dick began to grow as big as a porpoise, I got 

1 Rumor flies and £rains strength. 



190 COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

an old friend of mine, who lives in Derbyshire, close to the 
Devil's — humph! close to the Peak — to take Dick 'prentice 
at half price. He's just now out of his time, and I warrant 
him as wild and as rough as a rock; now if you, Doctor, if 
you would but take him in hand and soften him a bit — 
Pangloss. Pray, my Lord — 

" — to soften rocks ! " 

— Congreve. Hem ! pray, my Lord, what profession may the 
honorable Mr. Dowlas have followed? 

Lord Duherly, Who ? Dick ? He has served his clerkship 
to an attorney at Castleton. 

Pangloss. An attorney ! Gentlemen of his profession, my 
Lord, are very difficult to soften. 

Lord Duherly. Yes, but the pay may make it worth while. 
I'm told that Lord Spindle gives his eldest son Master Drum- 
stick's tutorer three hundred a year ; and besides learning his 
pupil, he has to- read my Lord to sleep of an afternoon, and 
walk out with the lapdogs and children. Now, if three hun- 
dred a year, Doctor, will do the business for Dick, I shan't 
begrudge it you. 

Pangloss. Three hundred a year ! Say no more, my Lord. 

LL.D., A. double S., and three hundred a year ! I accept the 

office. 

" Verlum sat." ^ 

— Horace. Hem ! I'll run to my lodgings — settle with Mrs. 
Suds — put my wardrobe into a — no, I've got it all on, and — 
(going}. 

Lord Buherly. Hold, hold! Not so hasty. Doctor, I must 
first send you for Dick, to the Blue Boar. 

Pangloss. The Honorable Mr. Dowlas, my pupil, at the Blue 
Boar? 

Lord Duherly. Aye, in Holborn. As I an't fond of telling 

1 A word is sufficient. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 191 

people good news beforeliand, for fear they may be baulked, 
Dick kno^YS nothing of my being made a Lord. 
Pangloss. Three hundred a year ! 

" I've often wished that I had clear, 
For life, — six " no ; three — 
"three hundred." 

Lord Buberly. I wrote him just before I left Gosport, to tell 

him to meet me in London with — 

Pangloss. 

" Three hundred pounds a year ! " 
_ Swift — Hem! 

Lord Buherly. With all speed, upon business, d'ye mind me ? 

Pangloss. Dr. Pangloss, with an income of — No lapdogs, 
my Lord? 

Lord Buherly. Nay, but listen. Doctor ; and as I didn't 
know where old Ferret was to make me live in London, I told 
Dick to be at the Blue Boar this morning, by the stage-coach. 
Why, you don't hear what I'm talking about. Doctor. 

Pangloss. Oh, perfectly, my Lord — three hundred — Blue 
Boars — in a stage-coach ! 

Lord Buherly. Well, step into my room. Doctor, and I'll 
give you a letter which you shall carry to the inn, and bring 
Dick away with you. I warrant the boy will be ready to 
jump out of his skin. 

Pangloss. Skin ! Jump ! Zounds ! I'm ready to jump out of 
mine ! I follow your Lordship — oh, Doctor Pangloss, where 
is your philosophy, now ! I attend you, my Lord. 

" jEquam memento " — 

— Horace — 

Servare mentem^ 

Hem I bless me, I'm all in a fluster, LL.D., A. double S., and 
three hundred a — I attend your Lordship. 

1 Remember to keep a collected mind. 



192 COLMAN THE YOUNGEB 

ACT n. 

Scene II. — A room in the Blue Boar Inn, 
(^Enter Br, Pangloss and Waiter,^ 

Pangloss. Let the chariot turn about. Dr. Pangloss in a 

Lord's chariot ! 

" Curra portahur eodem." ^ 

— Juvenal. Hem ! waiter ! 
Waiter. Sir. 

Pangloss. Have you any gentleman here who arrived this 
morning ? 

Waiter. There's one in the house now, Sir. 
Pangloss. Is he juvenile ? 
Waiter. No, Sir, he's Derbyshire. 

Pangloss. He ! he ! he ! Of Avhat appearance is the gentle- 
man ? 

Waiter. Why, plaguey poor, Sir. 

Pangloss. 

" I hold him rich, al had he not a sherte." 

— Chaucer. Hem! Denominated the Honorable Mr. Dowlas? 
Waiter. Honorable ! He left his name plain Dowlas at the 

bar, Sir. 

Pangloss. Plain Dowlas, did he ? That will do ; — 

" And all the rest is leather " — 



Waiter. Leather, Sir ! 
Pangloss. 



■ and prunello. 



— Pope. Hem ! tell Mr. Dowlas a gentleman requests the 
honor of an interview. 

Waiter. This is his room. Sir. He is but just stepped into 
our parcel warehouse ; he'll be with you directly. (Exit.^j 

1 He is borne in the same carriage. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 193 

Pangloss. Never before did honor and affluence let fall such 
a shower on the head of Dr. Pangloss ! Fortune, I thank 
thee ! Propitious goddess, I am grateful ! I, thy favored child, 
who commenced his career in the loftiest apartment of a muffin- 
maker in Milk Alley. Little did I think, — 

" good, easy man," 

— Shakspeare. Hem ! — of the riches and literary dignities 
which now — 

(^Enter Dick Dowlas.) 
My pupil ! 

Dick (^speaking while entering). Well, where is the man that 
wants — oh ! You are he, I suppose — 

Pangloss. I am the man, young gentleman ! 

" Homo sum" ^ 

— Terence. Hem ! Sir, the person who now presumes to ad- 
dress you is Peter Pangloss, to whose name, in the college of 
Aberdeen, is subjoined, LL.D., signifying Doctor of Laws; to 
which has been recently added the distinction of A. double S., 
the Roman initials for a Fellow of the Society of Arts. 

Dick. Sir, I am your most obedient, Richard Dowlas, to 
whose name, in his tailor's bill, is subjoined, Dr., signifying 
debtor; to which are added L.S.D., the Roman initials for 
pounds, shillings, and pence. 

Pangloss. Ha ! This youth was doubtless designed by des- 
tiny to move in the circles of fashion ; for he is dipped in debt, 
and makes a merit of telling it. 

Dick. But what are your commands with me, Doctor ? 

Pangloss. I have the honor, young gentleman, of being de- 
puted an ambassador to you, from your father. 

Dick. Then you have the honor to be an ambassador of as 
good-natured an old fellow as ever sold a ha'p'orth of cheese 
in a chandler's shop. 

1 1 am the man. 

SCH. IN COM. — 13 



194 COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

Pangloss. Pardon me if, on the subject of your father's 
cheese, I advise you to be as mute as a mouse in one, for the 
future. 'Twere better to keep that 

" alta mente repostum." ^ 

— Vergil. Hem ! 

Dich. Why, what's the matter? Any misfortune ? Broke, 
I fear. 

Pangloss. No, not broke ; but his name, as 'tis customary 
in these cases, has appeared in the Gazette. 

Dick. Not broke, but Gazetted ! Why, zounds and the D — 1 ! 

Pangloss. Check your passions ; learn philosophy. When 
the wife of the great Socrates threw a — hum ! — threw a teapot 
at his erudite head, he was as cool as a cucumber. When 
Plato — 

Biek. D— n Plato ! What of my father ? 

Pangloss. Don't d — n Plato. The bees swarmed round his 
mellifluous mouth as soon as he was swaddled. 

" Cuvi in cunis apes in lahellis consedissent." ^ 

— Cicero. Hem ! 

Dick. I wish you had a swarm round yours, with all my 
heart. Come to the point. 

Pangloss. In due time. But calm your choler. 

" Ira furor brevis est." ^ 

— Horace. Hem! Read this. (^G-ives a letter.^ 
Dick (^snatches the letter^ breaks it open, and reads^ : 

Dear Dick : This comes to inform you I am in a perfect state 
of health., hoping you are the same. Aye, that's the old begin- 
ning. It was my lot., last week., to he made — aye, a bankrupt, I 
suppose — to he made a — What ? — to he made a p-e-a-r ; A 
pear I To be made a pear ! What the D — 1 does he mean by 
that ? 

1 Stored deep in the mind. 

2 When the bees swarmed about his lips in the cradle. 

3 Anger is a brief madness. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 195 

Pangloss. A Peer — a Peer of the realm. His Lordship's 
orthography is a little loose, but several of his equals counte- 
nance the custom. Lord Loggerhead always spells physician 
with an/. 

Dich. A Peer! What, my father ! I'm electrified. Old 
Daniel Dowlas made a Peer! But let me see — {reads oti) 
pear of the realm. Laivyer Ferret got me my tit — tit — oh, title ! 

— and an estate of fifteen thousand per ann.^ hy making me out 
next of kin to old Lord Duherly^ because he died without — with- 
out hair. 'Tis an odd reason, by the bye, to be next of kin to 
a nobleman because he died bald. 

Pangloss. His Lordship means heir — heir to his estate. 
We shall meliorate his style speedily. 

" Reform it altogether." 

— Shakspeare. Hem ! 

Dick. I send my carrot. Carrot ! 

Pangloss. He, he, he! Chariot his Lordship means. 

Dick. With Dr. Pangloss in it. 

Pangloss. That's me. 

Dick. Respect him^ for he^s an LL.D.^ and moreover., an A. 
double S. {They bow.) 

Pangloss. His Lordship kindly condescended to insert that 
at my request. 

Dick. And I have made him your tutorer., to mend your 
cakelology. 

Pangloss. Cacology ; from Ka/co?, malus, and A0709, verbum. 
Vide Lexicon. Hem ! 

Dick. Come with the Doctor to my house in Hanover Square. 
Hanover Square ! I remain your affectionate father., to com- 
mand — DUBERLY. 

Pangloss. That's his Lordship's title. 
Dick. Is it ? 
Pangloss, It is. 

Dick. Say sir to a Lord's son. You have no more manners 
than a bear, 



196 COL MAN THE YOUNGER 

Pangloss. Bear ! Under favor, young gentleman, I am the 
hear-leader^ being appointed your tutor. 

Dick. And what can you teach me ? 

Pangloss. Prudence. Don't forget yourself in sudden suc- 
cess. 

" Tecum habita." ^ 

— Persius. Hem ! 

Bich. Prudence to a nobleman's son, with fifteen thousand 
a year ! 

Pangloss. Don't give way to your passions. 

Dick. Give way? Zounds! I'm wild — mad! You teach 
me ? Pooh ! I have been in London before, and know it re- 
quires no teaching to be made a modern fine gentleman. Why, 
it all lies in a nutshell : Sport a curricle — walk Bond street 
— play at faro — get drunk — dance reels — go to the opera — 
cut off your tail — pull on your pantaloons — and there's a 
buck of the first fashion in town for you. D — n me, d'ye 
think I don't know what's going ? 

Pangloss. Mercy on me ! I shall have a very refractory 
pupil ! 

Dick. Not at all. We'll be hand and glove together, my 
little Doctor. I'll drive you down to all the races, with my 
terrier between your legs, in a tandem. 

Pangloss. Doctor Pangloss, the philosopher, with a terrier 
between his legs, in a tandem ! 

Dick. I'll tell you what. Doctor, I'll make you my long- 
stop at cricket. You shall draw corks when I'm president — 
laugh at my jokes before company — squeeze lemons for punch 

— cast up the reckoning — and woe betide you if you don't 
keep sober enough to see me safe home, after a jollification ! 

Pangloss. Make me a long-stop, and a squeezer of lemons ! 
Zounds ! This is more fatiguing than walking out with the 
lapdogs ! And are these the qualifications for a tutor, young 
gentleman ? 

^ 13e self-possessed. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 197 

Dick. To be sure they are. 'Tis the way that half the prig 
parsons, who educate us honorables, jump into fat livings. 

Pangloss. 'Tis well they jump into something fat, at last, 
for tliey must wear all the flesh off their bones in the process. 

Dick. Come now, tutor, go you and call the w^aiter. 

Pangloss. Go and call ! Sir, sir ! I'd have you to under- 
stand, Mr. Dowlas — 

Dick. Aye, let us understand one another, Doctor. My 
father, I take it, comes down handsomely to you for your man- 
agement of me. 

Pangloss. My Lord has been liberal. 

Dick. But 'tis I must manage you., Doctor. Acknowledge 
this, and, between ourselves, I'll find means to double your 
pay. 

Pangloss. Double my — 

Dick. Do you hesitate ? Why, man, you have set up for a 
modern tutor without knowing your trade. 

Pangloss. Double my pay ! Say no more — done. 

^^ Actum est.''^ 

— Terence. Hem! Waiter! (^Bawling.') Gad, I've reached the 
right reading at last — 

" I've often wished that I had clear, 
For life, six hundred pounds a year." 

— Swift. Hem! Waiter! 

Dick. That's right ; tell him to pop my clothes and linen 
into the carriage ; they are in that bundle. 

(^Enter Waiter.) 

Pangloss. Waiter, here. Put up the honorable Mr. Dow- 
las's clothes and linen into his father's, Lord Duberly's 
chariot. 

Waiter. Where are they all. Sir ? 

1 It is done. 



198 C0L3IAN THE YOUNGER 

Pangloss. All wrapped ap in the Honorable Mr. Dowlas's 
pocket handkerchief. QExit Waiter^ with bundle.) 

Dick. See 'em safe in, Doctor, and I'll be with you di- 
rectly. 

Pangloss. I go, most worthy pupil. Six hundred pounds 
a year. However deficient in the classics, his knowledge of 
arithmetic is admirable. 

" I've often wished that I had clear, 
For life,-—" 

Biek. Nay, nay, don't be so slow. 

Pangloss. Swift. Hem ! I'm gone. QExit.) 

Pick. What am I to do with Zekiel and Cis ? When a 

poor man has grown great, his old acquaintances generally 

begin to be troublesome. 

QEnter Zekiel.) 

Zekiel. Well, I ha'n't been long. 

Pick. No, you are come time enough, in all conscience. 

(^Ooolly.) 

Zekiel. Cicely ha' gotten the place. I be e'en almost stark 
wild wi' joy. Such a good-natured young madam ! Why, you 
don't seem pleased, man ! Sure, and sure, you be glad of our 
good fortune, Dick. 

Pick. Dick ! What do you — Oh, but he doesn't know yet, 
that I am a Lord's son. I rejoice to hear of your success, friend 
Zekiel. 

Zekiel. Why, now, that's hearty. But, eh I Why, you 
look mortal heavy and lumpish, Dick. No bad tidings since 
we ha' been out, I hope. 

Pick. Oh, no ! 

Zekiel. Eh ! let's have a squint at you. Odd rabbit, but 
summut have happened. You ha' seen your father, and things 
ha' gone crossish. Who have been here, Dick ? 

Pick. Only a gentleman who had the honor of being deputed 
an ambassador from my father. 



mCK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 199 

Zekiel. What a dickens ! An ambassador ! Pish, now. 
You be a queering a body. An ambassador, sent from an old 
chandler to Dick Dowlas, lawyer Latitat's clerk ? Come, that 
be a good one, fegs ! 

Dick. Dick Dowlas ! And lawyer's clerk ! Sir, the gen- 
tleman came to inform me that my father, by being proved 
next of kin to the late Lord, is now Lord Duberly; by which 
means I am now the honorable Mr. Dowlas. 

Zekiel. Odds flesh ! Gi' us your fist, Dick ! I ne'er shook 
the fist of an Honorable afore, in all my born days. Old 
Daniel made a Lord ! I be main glad to hear it. This be 
news indeed ! But, Dick, I hope he ha' gotten some ready 
along wi' his title; for a Lord without money be but a foolish, 
wishy-washy kind of a thing, a'ter all. 

Dick. My father's estate is fifteen thousand a year. 

Zekiel. Mercy on us ! You ha' ta'en away my breath. 

Dick. Well, Zekiel, Cis and you shall hear from me soon. 

Zekiel. Why, you ben't a going, Dick ? 

Dick. I must pay my duty to his Lordship; his chariot 
waits for me, below. We have been some time acquainted, 
Zekiel, and you may depend upon my good offices. 

Zekiel. You do seem a little flustrated with these tidings, 
Dick. I — I should be loth to think your kindness was a 
cooling. 

Dick. Oh, no ! Rely on my protection. 

Zekiel. Why, look'e, Dick Dowlas; as to protection and 
all that, we ha' been old friends, and, if I should need it 
from you, it be no more nor my right to expect it, and your 
business to give it me. But Cicely ha' gotten a place, and I 
ha' hand and health to get a livelihood. Fortune, good or 
bad, tries the man, they do say; and if I should hap to be 
made a Lord to-morrow (as who can say what may betide, 
since they ha' made one out of an old chandler), — 

Dick. Well, Sir, and what then ? 

Zekiel. Why then, the finest feather in my Lordship's cap 
would be, to show that there would be as much shame in 



200 COLMAN THE YOUNG EM 

slighting an old friend because he be poor, as there be pleasure 
in owning him when it be in our power to do him service. 

Dick. You mistake me, Zekiel — I — I — 'Sdeath! I'm 
quite confounded ! I'm trying to be as fashionable here, as 
my neighbors; but nature comes in, and knocks it all on the 
head (aside). Zekiel, give me your hand. 

Zekiel. Then, there be a hearty Castleton slap for you. The 
grasp of an honest man can't disgrace the hand of a Duke, Dick. 

Dick. You've a kind soul, Zekiel, I regard you sincerely. 
I love Cicely, and — D — n it, I'm going too far, now, for a 
Lord's son. Pride and old friendship are now fighting in me, 
till I am almost bewildered. (Aside.) You shall hear from 
me in a few hours. Good-by ! Zekiel I Good-by ! (Exit.) 

Zekiel. I don't know what ails me, but I be almost ready 
to cry. Dick be a high-mettled youth, and this news ha' put 
him a little beside himself. I should make a bit of allowance. 
His heart, I do think, be in the right road; and when that be 
the cause, he be a hard judge that won't pardon an old friend's 
spirits when they do carry him a little way out on't. (Exit.) 

ACT in. 

Scene II. — An apartment in Lord Duherly's house, 
(Lady Duherly and Dr. Pangloss.) 

Lady Duherly. And how does my Lord come on with his 
learning, Doctor? 

Pangloss. Apt, very apt, indeed, for his age. Defective in 
nothing now but words, phrases, and grammar. 

Lady Duherly. I wish you could learn him to follow my 
example, and be a little genteel ; but there is no making a silk 
purse out of a sow's ear, they say. 

Pangloss. Time may do much. But as to my Lord, every- 
body hasn't your Ladyship's exquisite elegance. 

" My soul, a lie ! " 
— Shakspeare. Hem ! (Aside.) 



DICK BOWL AS AND HIS TUTOR 201 

Lady Duherly. A mighty pretty spoken man. And you are 
made tutor, I'm told, Doctor, to my Dicky? 

Fangloss. That honor has accrued to your obsequious ser- 
vant, Peter Pangloss. I have now the felicity of superintend- 
ing your Ladyship's Dicky. 

Lady Duherly. I must not have my son thwarted, Doctor ; 
for when he has his way in everything, he's the sweetest 
tempered youth in Christendom. 

Pangloss. An extraordinary instance of mildness ! 

Lady Duherly. Oh, as mild as mother's milk, I assure you. 
And what is he to learn, Doctor? 

Pangloss. Our readings will be various; logic, ethics, and 
mathematics, history — foreign and domestic, geography — an- 
cient and modern, voyages and travels, antiquities — British 
and foreign, natural history, natural and moral philosophy, 
classics, arts and sciences, belles-lettres, and miscellanies. 

Lady Duherly. Bless me ! 'Tis enough to batter the poor 

boy's brains to a mummy. 

Pangloss. 

" A little learning — " 

Lady Duherly. Little ? A load ! 
Pangloss. 

" — is a dangerous thing." 
— Pope. Hem! 

Lady Duherly. And you have left out the main article. 

Pangloss. What may your Ladyship mean? 

Lady Duherly. Mean ! Why, dancing, to be sure. 

Pangloss. Dancing ? Dr. Pangloss, the philosopher, teach to 
dance ? 

Lady Duherly. Between whiles, you might give Dick a les- 
son or two in the hall. As my Lord's valet plays on the kit, 
it will be quite handy to have you both in the house, you 
know. 

Pangloss. This is a d — d barbarous old woman. QAside.) 
With submission to your Ladyship, my business is with the 
head and not the heels of my pupil. 



202 COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

Lady Buherly. Fiddle f addle ! Lady Betty tells me that 
the heads of young men of fashion, nowadays, are by no 
means overloaded. They are all left to the barber and den- 
tist. 

Pangloss. 'Twould be daring to dispute so self-evident an 
axiom. But, if your Ladyship — 

Lady Buherly. Look ye. Doctor; he must learn to dance 
and jabber French, and I wouldn't give a brass far den for any- 
thing else. I know what's elegance — and you'll find the gray 
mare the better horse, in this house, I promise you. 

Pangloss. Her Ladyship is paramount. 

^^ Dux femina facti." "^ 

— Vergil. Hem ! (^Aside.^ 

Lady Buherly. What's your pay here, Mr. Tutorer ? 
Pangloss. Three hundred pounds ^gr annum — that is, six 

— no, three — no — ay — no matter — the rest is between me 
and Mr. Dowlas. (^Aside.) 

Lady Buherly. Do as I direct you in private, and, to prevent 
words, I'll double it. 

Pangloss. Double it ! What, again ! Nine hundred ! I am 
mum! {Aside.) I'll take it. 

" Your hand ; a covenant." 

— Shakspeare. Hem ! Zounds ! I've got beyond the reading, 
at last! 

" I've often wished that I had clear, 
For life," — 

(Lord Buherly speaks without. ) 
I hear, my Lord — 

" Nine hundred pounds a year." 

— Swift. Hem ! 



1 A woman was the leader to the deed. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 203 

(Enter Lord Duherly and Dick Doivlas.} 

Lord Duherly. Come along, Dick ! Here lie is again, my 
Lad}'. Twist, the tailor, happened to come in promiscuously, 
as I may say, and — 

Pangloss. Accidentally^ my Lord, would be better. 

Lord Duherly. Ay, accidentally — with a suit of my Lord 
Docktail's under his arm ; and, as we Avas in a bit of a rumpus 
to rig out Dick, why — 

Pangloss. Dress., not rig — unless metaphorically. 

Lord Duherly. Well, to dress out — why, we — Humph! 
Doctor, don't bother. In short, a\ e popped Dick into 'em ; 
and. Twist says, they hit to a hair. 

Dick. Yes, they are quite the dandy ; aren't they. Mother ? 
This is all the go, they say ; cut straight, that's the thing — 
square waist — wrap over the knee, and all that. Slouch is the 
word now, 3"ou know. 

Lady Duherly. Exceeding genteel, I declare ! Turn about, 
Dick ; they don't pitch, do they ? 

Dick. Oh no ! Just as if I'd been measured. 

Lord Duherly. Pitch? Lord love you, my Lady, they sit 
like a sack. But why don't you stand up? The boy rolls 
about like a porpus in a storm. 

Dick. That's the fashion. Father ! That's modern ease. 
Young Vats, the beau brewer from the borough, brought it 
down, last Christmas, to Castleton. A young fellow is nothing, 
now, without the Bond street roll, a toothpick between his 
teeth, and his knuckles crammed into his coat pocket. Then, 
away you go, lounging lazily along. " Ah, Tom ! " " What ? " 
Still rolling away, you see ! "How are you, Jack?" "What, 
my little Dolly?" That's the way, isn't it, Mother? 

Lady Duherly. The very air and grace of our young no- 

biiitj-: 

Lord Duherly. Is it? Grace must have got plaguy limber 
and lopt, of late. There's the last Lord Duberly's father, done 
in our dining-room, with a wig as wide as a washtub, and 



204 ' COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

stuck up as stiff as a poker. He was one of your tiptops, too, 
in his time, they tell me ; he carried a gold stick before George 
the First. 

Lad^ JDuherly. Yes ; and looks, for all the world, as straight 
as if he had swallowed it. 

Lord Duberly. No matter for that, my Lady. What signi- 
fies dignity without its crackeristick. A man should know 
how to be mean himself, when he is as rich as Pluto. 

Pangloss. Plutus, if you please, my Lord. Pluto, no 
doubt, has disciples, and followers of fashion ; but Plutus is 
the ruler of riches. 

" AyjfxrJTYjp fxev JIXovtov eyetvaTO." ^ 

— Hesiod. Hem ! 

Lord Duherly. There, Dick I D'ye hear how the tutorer 
talks? Odd rabbit P He can ladle you out Latin by the quart, 
and grunt Greek like a pig. I've gin liim three hundred a 
year, and settled all he's to larn you. Ha'n't I, Doctor? 

Pangloss, Certainly, my Lord. 

"Thrice to thine — " 

Dich. Yes, we know all about that. Don't we, Doctor? 
Pangloss. Decidedly — 

" and thrice to thine — " 

Lady Duherly. Aye, aye ; clearly understood. Isn't it, 
Doctor ? 

Pangloss. Undoubtedly — 

" And thrice again, to make up nine." 

— Shakspeare. Hem! (^These three quotations aside. ^ 



1 Demeter bore Plutus. 

2 A meaningless exclamation. 



DICK DOWLAS AND 1118 TUTOR 205 

(^Enter John.) 

John. A card, my Lord. The gentleman waits in the eat- 
ing-room, and wishes to see your Lordship on particular busi- 
ness. (^G-ives a card.') 

Lord Duberly. Muster Stedfast ! Never heard of the name. 
Curse me, my lad, tell him I'll be with him in the twinkling of 
a bedpost. (^Exit John.) 

Lady Duberly. I shall go with your Lordship through the 
gallery ; for I must dress to attend Lady Betty. 

Lord Duberly. Come along, then, my Lady. Dick, go with 
the tutorer ; he'll give you a lesson in my library. Plenty of 
larning there, I promise you. I was at it all of a row, this 
here very morning. There's all Horace's operas,^ Doctor ; 
and such a sight of French books ! But I see by the backs they 
are all written by Tom.^ Come along, my Lady. 

{Exeunt Lord and Lady Duberly.) 

Pangloss. On what subject, Mr. Dowlas, shall we commence 
our researches this evening? 

Dick. Tell 'em to light up the billiard room ; we'll knock 
about the balls a little. 

Pangloss. Knock about the balls ! An admirable entrance 
upon a course of studies ! 

Dick. Do you know anything of the game ? 

Pangloss. I know how to pocket, young gentleman. 

Dick. So do most tutors. Doctor. 

Pangloss. If I could but persuade you to peep into a 
classic — 

Dick. Peep I Why, you prig of a fellow, don't I pay you 
because I wont peep? Talk of this again, and I'm off in our 
contract. 



1 Opera is the Latin word for works, which. Lord Duberly mistook for the 
English operas. 

2 The abbreviation of the word tome, or volume — mistaken by the ignorant 
Lord for the name of the author. 



206 COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

Pangloss, Are you? I'm dumb — 

"Mammon leads me on." 

— Milton. Hem! I follow. (JExeunt.) 

ACT IV. 

Scene II. — The street. 
{Enter Dick Dowlas and Dr. Pangloss.^ 

Dick. It don't signify, Doctor ; I can't rest till I have seen 
Cicely. 

Pangloss. What's a tutor's power over a pupil in love ? 
Annihilated. True, though trite, that 

" Omnia vincit amor."^ 

— Ovid. Hem ! Is she pretty ? 
Dick. What's that to you? 

Pangloss. Nothing. I'm dead to the fascinations of beauty 
since that unguarded day of dalliance, when, being full of 

Bacchus — 

'' Bacchi plenus.''^ 

— Horace. Hem I — my pocket was picked of a metal watch, at 
the sign of the Spectre, in Shoe-lane. 

Dick. This is the house; I've told you my story, and as 
you value my three hundred pounds a year, Doctor, be ready 
to assist me, either by message or letter, or — but what a 
d — d gig you look like. 

Pangloss. A gig! Umph ; that's an Eton phrase. The 
Westminsters call it vuiz. 

Dick. And you are the greatest, sure, that ever was dis- 
patched on Love's embassies from the court of Cupid. 

1 Love conquers all things. 

2 Full of Bacchus, Bacchus, the god of wine, is used by metonymy for wine 
itself. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 207 

Pangloss. I'm not proud of the post. Take my counsel and 
drop the pursuit. Refrain ! Desist ! 

''Desine!"^ 

— Terence. Hem ! 

Dick. Why, look ye, Doctor ; I've done an injury to two 
Avorthy souls, and I can't rest till I have made reparation. 
We are all of us wrong at times, Doctor ; but a man doubles 
his ill conduct when he is too proud to make an apology 
for it. 

Pangloss. Yes, confessing our faults, Mr. Dowlas — 

Dick. It's only saying, in other words. Doctor, that we are 
wiser to-day than we were yesterday. 

Pangloss. Swift. Hem ! Plenty of precedents, however, for 
your conduct. 

" At lover's perjuries, they say — " 

Dick. Well, what do they say? 
Pangloss. 

^ " They say Jove laughs." 

— Shakspeare. Hem ! Phaon left Sappho ; Theseus, Ariadne ; 
Demophoon, Phylis ; iEneas, Dido, — 

Dick. Oh, d— n Dido ! 

Pangloss. D — n Dido ! Well, d — n Dido, with all my heart. 
She was the daughter to King Belus, of Tyre ; but as very a 
virago — 

Dick. Well, we need not go far for examples. Now, knock 
at that door. 

Pangloss. Double ? 

Dick. Zounds I no ; you'll spoil all. A sneaking, single 
tap, like a dun. Doctor. 

Pangloss. Like a dun? I know the knock well, Mr. 
Dowlas. 

Dick. And when 'tis given, get out of the way for a 
Avhile. 

1 Desist. 



208 COLMAN THE TOUNGEB 

Pangloss. My constant custom, on such, an occasion. 
QKnocks at the door.^ There's the thorough thump of a 
creditor. 

" I never heard it but I ran away 
Upon instinct." 

— Shakspeare. Hem! (^Uxit.^ 

QEnter Cicely at the door. Dick is with his hack towards her.) 

Cicely. Dear ! Sure, somebody knocked. I see nobody but 
that gentleman, neither. It could not be he, for if footmen 
thump so loud, for certain your gentlefolks must always beat 
the door down. Was it you that knocked, pray, Sir ? (^Dick 
turns round, and Cicely screams.') Don't come near me ! 

Dick. My dear Cicely, I — 

Cicely. Oh, Dick! Dick! (Cries and falls into his arms.) 

Dick. I cannot bear this. Your tears go to my very soul, 
Cicely. 

Cicely. 'Tis you have been the cause of them. You have 
almost cut my poor heart in two. 

Dick. My own suffers for it sufficiently, believe me. 

Cicely. How could you be so barbarous to me? But, in- 
deed, indeed I forgive you. Your cruelty will cost me many a 
tear ; but this is the last time I shall ever upbraid you. 

Dick. Oh, I deserve all your reproaches. 

Cicely. If I had come to fortune and you had been poor, 
Dick, I would have flown to you and cheered you in your 
poverty. I would have poured my gold at your feet. I 
would have shared all my joys with you, and told you that 
riches could never change my heart. 

Dick. And I come now to share all mine with you. 
Cicely. 

Cicely. Oh, no, Dick ! My lot is very humble, but I scorn 
the gold that would buy my honesty. We must never meet 
more ; but indeed, indeed, I do truly wish you to be prosperous, 
though you sought my ruin. Bless you, Dick ! And if ever 



BWK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOB 209 

poor Cicely comes into your mind, tliink that she prays to 
Heaven to forgive you for trying to harm her innocence, 
whose greatest blessing would have been to make you happy. 

(^ Going. ^ 

Dick. Stay — stay and hear me, I entreat you ! I come to 
sue for pardon, I come in repentance. Cicely. 

Cicely. And do you repent? 

Dick. I do, most earnestly. 

Cicely . That is some comfort to me, for your own heart 
will be easier and I shall bear my hard lot better, now ; for I ' 
know your great friends will never let you stoop to one in my 
station. Ah, times are much changed with us, Dick ! 

Dick. However changed, they shall not now alter my pur- 
pose, Cicely. I have been dazzled, and I have wounded you. 
I have covered myself, too, with shame and confusion ; but if 
they can make atonement, my fortunes, my heart, and my hand 
are all at your service. 

Cicely. Your hand ! I — I shall be able to speak more, 
soon. Oh, Dick ! 

Dick. My dear, dear Cicely ! I rose strangely to rank, 
and I shall now, perhaps, in the eyes of the great world, 
strangely support it ! For I am afraid, Cis, that half your 
young fellows of fashion would rather seem wicked than 
ridiculous ; but I shall never, for the future, think that marry- 
ing a worthy woman whom chance has placed beneath us in 
life can be any disgrace, while seducing her is reckoned, among 
profligate fops, a matter of triumph. Dry your tears. Cicely ! 

Cicely. These are not like the tears I shed a while ago. 
They are tears of joy, Dick ! (^Bell rings.') Hark ! I am 
called. 

Dick. One moment ! Tell me you forgive me. 

Cicely. Forgive you ? Oh, Dick ! You have made me 
happy. How this will comfort my poor Zekiel ! 

Dick. I shall be ashamed to meet him again. Cicely. 

Cicely. Oh ! I will tell him all ; and — (^Bell rings again.) 
Hark I I am called again. 

SCH. IX COM. 14 



210 COLMAN THE YOUyOER 

Dick. Adieu ! I will see you very, very soon. Farewell. 

Cicely. Good-by, and — 

Dick. One kiss, and — good-by ! {^Exit Cicely.) That 
one kiss of lovely virtue is worth a million times more than 
all the blandishments that wealth and luxury can purchase. 
Where the D — 1, now, is the Doctor ? I am brimful of joy, and 
I have nobody to communicate my — 

(^Reenter Dr. Pangloss.') 

Oh ! you are returned. Embrace me. Doctor ! 

Pangloss. Embrace you ! 

Dick. Open wide thy arms, in friendly congratulation, and 
embrace, you prig of a tutor, the happiest fellow in Christen- 
dom ! {They embrace.) 

Pangloss. Bless me ! Why, we're in the middle of the 
street. Decorum, Mr. Dowlas — 

Dick. Decorum ! I'm out of my senses. 

Pangloss, Heaven forbid ! For it would be as clear a nine 
hundred pounds a year out of my pocket, as ever man lost in 
his life. (Aside.) What's the news? 

Dick. The news ? Why, that I'm going to be married. 

Pangloss. Married I Mercy on me ! Then he is mad, indeed. 

'^ Tribus Anticyris caput insandbile."^ 

— Horace. Hem ! Consider the — 

Dick. Pshaw ! I have no time to — Come, come with me 
to my father's. I'll explain all to him, and — 

Pangloss. Only reflect on — 

Dick. Reflect ! Look ye, you grave mustard-pot of a phi- 
losopher ! You shall dance a jig down the street with me, to 
show your sympathy in my happiness. 

Pangloss. A Doctor of Laws dance a jig, in the open street, 
at noonday I 

1 A head incurable by the three Anticyras. (Anticyra, in ancient times, 
supplied the hellebore which was used as a cure for madness.) 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 211 

Lick. Foot it. '' Over the hills and far away." (^Singing.') 
Pangloss. I wish I ivere far away, Avith all my heart. 
Dick. Dance — dance, or I cut off your three hundred a 
year in a twinkling. 

Pangloss. Will you? Oh, then — 

" A flourish of trumpets." 

— Shakspeare. Hem ! '' Over the hills and far away ! " 

ACT V. 

Scene II. — An apartment in Lord Luherly^s house. 

(^Enter Lord and Jjady Luherly.) 

Lord Duherly. But listen, my Lady, to reason. 

Lady Duherly. Then I mustn't listen to you^ my Lord. 

Lord Duherly. Um! why, I've been almost scared out of 
my seven senses. The old madman who was here last night 
rushed in, with another young one with him, this morning. I 
can't make head nor tail of what he wants, for m}^ part. But 
as to Dick, my Lady, he'll certainly break his heart if he 
doesn't marry this here wench. 

Lady Duherly. I wonder, my Lord, you can think of such a 
thing ! A Peer's son marry a maidservant ? 

Lord Duherly. Odd rabbit, my Lady, don't be so obstropu- 
lous. You know when his father married you, you was but a 
clearstarcher. 

Lady Duherly. That's quite another sort of an affair; and 
you might have more manners than to mention it now. But 
as to learning you elegance — ah, we may lead the horse to 
the water, my Lord, but there's no making him drink. 

Lord Duherly. Nay, I'm sure, my Lady, I didn't mean no 
disparagement to you ; for you was counted on all hands the 
best getter up of small linen in our town. Here's the Doctor. 
Let's ax his advice in this here business. 

(^Enter Dr. Pangloss.^ 

Pray, now. Doctor — you must know we're in a bit of a 
quandary, Doctor. 



212 COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

Pangloss. Your Lordship had better be in an uncertainty. 

Lord Duherty. Why, Lord love you, so I am, mum. Pray, 
didn't you never hear of no great man as was married to a 
farmer's daughter? 

Pangloss. Walter, a Marquis of Lombardy. 

Lord Duherly. There, my Lady, — the Marquis of Lom- 
bardy ! That's the place where all the poplars come from. 
He's a tiptop, I war'n't him. Mayhap you may have lit on 
him in your visits, my Lady? 

Lady Buherly. Frequently. 

Panqloss. 

^ " 'Tis false.'* 

— Rowe. Hem! (^Aside.) 

Lady Buherly. But you have heard nothing yet of the high 
tone.^ my Lord. 

Lord Buherly. High tone ! Rot it, I have nothing else but 
the high tone when you're in the house, my Lady. And who 
did he marry. Doctor ? 

Pangloss. Grizzle; a perfect pattern of patience, daughter 
to his tenant, Jacolina; and — 

" This Markis hath here spoused with a ring." 

— Chaucer. Hem ! 

Lord Buherly. There, my Lady ! What do you think of 
that ? D — n it, if the Marquis spoused Grizzle, Dick may 
marry the maidservant. 

Pangloss. My pupil ! Zounds, my salary ! 
" Tremor occupat artus." ^ 

— Vergil. Hem! My income totters. {Aside.) 

Lord Buherly. And in that there case, Doctor, your three 
hundred a year must go to the mending of my cakelology. 

Pangloss. Yes, but I shall lose — no, nothing; a 
lingucB.^ One annuity gone with my pupil ! Then I've only 

— " clear 
For life, six hundred — " 



1 A tremor seizes my joints. ^ Slip of the tongue. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 213 

Lady Duherly. Doctor — 

Pangloss. 

" — pounds a year." 

— Swift. Hem ! Madam ? 

Lady Duherly (^apart to Pangloss). You know, Doctor, my 
three hundred stops the moment my son marries. 
Pangloss. What, stop your three — 

" Thrice the brinded cat has mewed." 

— Shakspeare. Hem ! Here he comes. 

(^Enter Lick Loivlas.) 

Lick. Well, Pather, has my mother made up her mind? 

Lord Luberly. Why, I can't tell, Dick. My Lady seems 
betwixt-and-betweenish, as a body may say. But, it all de- 
pends upon her vardic. (^Lick takes his mother apart.) 

Pangloss. Does it I Oh, Jupiter ! If ever contradiction crept 
into the bosom of beauteous woman — 

" Mulier formosa." ^ 

— Horace. Hem ! Stuff a double dose into that terrible old 
woman, and save the fortunes of Peter Pangloss. 

Lady Duherly. Well, she is only a farmer's daughter, they 
say. And what's a farmer, my dear? 

Dick. Why, an English farmer. Mother, is one who sup- 
ports his family and serves his country, by his own industry. 
In this land of commerce. Mother, such a character Avill be 
always respectable. 

Lord Duherly. That's right, Dick. Father's ow^n son, to a 
hair. When I kept my shop at Gosport, I — 

Lady Duherly. Hush, my Lord. Well, you — you w^ere 
always my darling, you know, Dick ; and I can't find in my 
heart to give you a denial. 

1 Beautiful woman. 



214 COLMAN THE YOUNG EB 

Pangloss. Can't you ! I wish you could find it in your 
tongue. Six hundred a year blown away by the breath of that 
Sibyl.i QAside,~) 

Dick. That's my good Mother ! You've made me so happy ! 

— I — Zounds ! I shall run mad ! 
Pangloss. Zounds ! And so shall I. 

Dick. A thousand thanks, my dear Mother, and my dear 
Father, too ! I'll get as drunk to-night as — Wish me joy, 
Doctor ; wish me joy, wish me joy a hundred times. 

Pangloss. A hundred times I I feel, Mr. Dowlas, on this 
occasion, six hundred times more than I know how to express. 

Dick. And if you would but indulge me now, in letting me 
conduct you to Cicely — 

Lord Duherly. Odd rod it, my Lady, let's humor Dick for 
once. The young ones loves to be cooing and building, you 
know. 

Lady Duherly. Why, the coach, I believe, is at the door, my 
Lord. 

Lord Duherly. Ig it? 'Sbobs then, my Lady, let's bundle — 
Dick ! Come, Doctor ! Now you mustn't ride me backwards, 
my Lady, for you know I ha'n't been used to a coach, and I 
shall certainly be qualmish if you do. Come, my Lady. 

(^Exeunt Lord and Lady Duherly. ~) 

Dick. Come, Doctor, we lose time. 

Pangloss. Time ? Lose ? I've lost as pretty a pair of snug 
annuities as — Let me see — 

Take six from nine, — 

Dick. Why, Doctor ? 

Pangloss. 

" — and three remains.*' 

— Cocker. Hem ! 

Dick. Come, come — 'tis late. 
Pangloss. Only three. 

1 A prophetess. 



DICK DOWLAS AND HIS TUTOR 215 

Dick. Only three ! Why, 'tis only twelve, man. But 
come — If you don't attend to my father better, I can tell you, 
he'll kick you and your three hundred a year to the D — 1. 

Pangloss. Will he ? 

" O ! for a horse with wings ! " 
— Shakspeare. Hem ! I fly, Mr. Dowlas. (^Exeunt.) 



MARIA EDGEWORTH 

In the early years of the century now closing, a female novelist amazed 
and delighted British readers, and rose to the first rank of writers of Eng- 
lish fiction. Sir Walter Scott avowed that when he began to write in prose 
he was actuated by a desire to emulate her. Sir James Mackintosh declared 
that 'she had selected a class of virtues most difficult of all to treat as sub- 
jects of fiction, and that she had thus performed what all preceding writers 
had left for her to do. Lord Macaulay was moved to say that a scene in 
her best work, The Absentee, was the best since the beginning of Book 
XXII. of the Odyssey of Homer was written. 

Maria Edgeworth, in whose praise all English critics seem to have united, 
was a woman of genius, and wrote with a lofty purpose. She has come 
to be known now chiefly as a writer of juvenile works, and her novels are 
less read than formerly, but she has not lost the favor of the British public. 
She is remembered with admiration and gratitude as a writer of high merit, 
deserving a place among those whose works will be read for ages to come. 

She was born in Oxfordshire, England, where her parents were tempo- 
rarily residing. In her early infancy, her family removed to their estate in 
Ireland, in a village known as Edgeworthtown. Unlike many Irish land- 
holders who abandoned their estates to tenants in order to indulge in the 
fashionable frivolities and dissipations of the British metropolis, the Edge- 
worths preferred the retirement of village life, and lived in enviable hap- 
piness at home. Maria's father was a scholar, and a writer of respectable 
ability. It was her happiness to assist him in his literary labors. Her own 
career opened with the beginning of the present century. A witty Essay 
on Irish Bulls was a joint production of father and daughter. 

Castle Rackrent won for its fair author an immediate recognition in the 
literary world. It was " the precursor of a copious series of tales, — national, 
moral, and fashionable, — which at once placed her in the first class of 
novelists, as a shrewd observer of manners, a warm-hearted observer of 
national humor, and a resolute upholder of good morals in fiction." 

In 1804, when she was thirty-seven years of age, were published three 
volumes of Popular Tales of her composition. Two years later appeared 
Leonora, a novel in two volumes. Five years afterward she gave to the 
public three of her six volumes of Fashionable Tales. The Absentee was one 

216 



MARIA EDGE WORTH 217 

of these. It depicted the folly of those who passed their days away from 
their estates, in the hollow, vain, and giddy society of fashionable London. 
Patronage, published in 1814, contrasted the wretched sycophancy of those 
who waited upon the capricious favor of the great, with the manly virtues 
of independence and self-reliance. 

Having struck at two of the greatest evils of Irish society, this undaunted 
friend of the people wi'ote, in 1817, a novel entitled Harrington, in which 
she strove to mitigate the unreasoning English prejudice against the Jews. 

Miss Edgeworth's father died in the same year, and his loss was to her 
irreparable. With filial love she prepared a memoir of his life. 

From this time forth she dovoted her rare powers to the entertainment 
and the moral instruction of children, in a series of juvenile works of re- 
markable beauty and power. Among these were Rosamond, Harry and Lucy, 
The Parent's Assistant, Moral Tales, and Helen. These remain as classics in 
the libraries of the young. Generations of children have found in them the 
highest inspiration of truth and virtue. 

Miss Edgeworth's influence for good affected all classes of people. Land- 
lords and tenants of " Rackrent " estates, dispensers and receivers of fickle 
'•patronage," vain, sordid, and foolish " absentees," Jew-haters, selfish and 
intractable children, teachers and parents — good and bad, — all came into 
the sphere of her influence. The good in society was strengthened by her 
work, and the evil was shamed and disconcerted. 

The Dame School ^ Holiday is a light drama illustrative of Miss Edge- 
worth's skill in delineation, and of her moral power. It appeals to the 
hearts of teachers and of pupils, and its influence lingers with the i-eader. 
Like the most of Miss Edgeworth's writings, it contains beautiful pictures 
of village life, contrasted with the ambitious but unsatisfactory life of the 
votaries of wealth and fashion in a great city ; the pure joy of innocent and 
loving hearts, with the vain pursuit of happiness by the selfish and proud. 
To most readers of this book, — even to many readers and professed ad- 
mirers of Miss Edgeworth, — this drama will be new ; for it has not appeared 
in the later collections of her works. There are few teachers who would 
willingly suffer a work of its moral force — however light its form — to drop 
out of existence. Clearly, its mission is not yet accomplished, nor is it likely 
soon to be ; for few, indeed, are the authors competent to replace it with a 
more modern picture of school life in which its lessons shall be imparted with 
equal force and skill. Moreover, the well-drawn pictures which we possess 
of the schools and schooldames of old days are not so numerous that we can 
afford to lose any of them from the gallery of literature, 

1 A dame school was a school taught by a " schooldame," or schoolmistress. 
A beautiful picture of a dame school is to be found in Shenstone's poem, The 
Schoolmistress, which is contained in Thr Schoolmaster in Literature. 



Children at the Dame's School. 



218 MABIA EUGEWOUTH 

THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 

(From Harry and Lucy) 

Dramatis Persons 

Dame, an old village schoolmistress. 

Miss Babberly. 

Jenny Parrot, her maid. 

Rose, 

Mary, 

Hannah, 

Naxcy, 

Willy, 

Cherry, 

Edwin, \ Children of the Village Clergyman. 

Philip, 

Felix, brother of IVIiss Babberly. 

A Peddler. 

ACT L 

Scene I. — A new-mown field, 

(^Unter Cherry and Philip, carrying a large basket of green 
houghs and flowers.) 

Cherry. Here, Philip, let us sit down here, for I am quite 
tired. 

Philip. Tired ! But you must not be tired, Cherry ; con- 
sider that this is my father's birthday, and we have a great, 
great deal to do to make his room into a bower with these 
green branches and honeysuckles. Oh, it will be beautiful, 
with roses here and there, in garlands ; and then we must 
make nosegays for Papa and Mamma and Aunts, and have a 
green bough for every house in the village. Oh, Cherry, 
indeed you must not say you are tired. 

Cherry. Well, I will not; but I may say I am hot, may I 
not? 

Philip. Hot, are you ? Well, so am I, I must confess, hot 
enough, if that's all; but push your hat back, as I do. Off 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 219 

with this frillikin ruff that you have about your neck. There, 
now, sit down comfortably, and I will fan you with this great 
fan — (fans her with a green hough). Isn't that pleasant, 
Cherry ? 

Cherry. Very pleasant, only I think it makes me hotter 
afterward; besides, it must make you all the time so very hot 
doing it. Now, Philip, let us make our nosegays ; that will 
cool us best. Here, this moss rose bud I'll have for Mamma. 

Philip. But it is not her birthday. 

Cherry. But she may have a rose for all that, mayn't 
she ? Here, Philip, is a beautiful blush rose for Papa. 

Philip. Mamma should have the blush rose, because she is 
a woman, and blushes. But I will tell you what. Cherry, it 
will not be right to give Papa a red, and Mamma a white rose. 

Cherry. Why ? 

Philip. Because it would seem as if they had quarreled. 

Cherry (laughing). Quarreled? 

Philip (gravely). I assure you it is no laughing matter, as 
you would know if you had read the history of England, as I 
have. A great while ago, in the dark ages, the Houses of 
York and Lancaster — but you are not old enough to under- 
stand me. 

Cherry. But I know what I am old enough to understand, 
and something that you don't know, Philip. 

Philip. What? 

Cherry. Oh, that is a secret. 

Philip. A secret ! And you will not tell it to Philip ! 

Cherry. No, not to Philip, or anybody ; for I was desired 
not. 

Philip. By whom ? 

Cherry. Oh, by somebody; but that's a secret too, and I 
have promised not to tell till the time comes, and the time will 
come this evening, this very evening — after dinner — after 
tea, you will see ! You will be very much surprised, and you 
will be very happy, and you will then know all. 

Philip. I know all now, Cherry. 



220 MARIA EBGEWOBTR 

Cherry. Oh, no, indeed, Philip, you do not know about 
Edwin. 

Philip. Yes, but I do. 

Cherry. And about the play ? 

Philip. Oh, hush ! Take care — you promised not to tell. 

Cherry. But since you know it — 

Philip. But how do you know that I know it ? 

Cherry. My dear ! Did not you say so ? 

Philip. But you might tell me by accident more than I 
know ; and I should be very sorry for that, because it would 
not be right. 

Cherry. Then the best way is for you to tell me, Philip, all 
that you know. 

Philip. All that I know is, that my brother Edwin has 
written a little play for my father's birthday. 

Cherry. Ah I But I know the name. 

Philip. So do I. 

Cherry. What is it ? 

{Enter Felix.') 

Philip. Oh ! here's Felix come home at last. How do you 
do, Felix ? 

Cherry. How do you do, Felix ? 

Felix. Felix ! Mr. Felix, I think you might say. Children. 

Cherry. You have grown very tall, indeed, since you have 
been in London; you are quite a grown-up person now, I 
think. 

Felix. A grown-up person ! Yes, to be sure I am. Little-one. 

Philip. But he is not so tall as our brother Edwin, though 
— are you, Felix ? 

Felix. How can I tell? I have not measured myself since I 
came from Lon'on. 

Philip. Come, come, then, and see Edwin directly ; he will 
be so glad to see you ! 

Cherry. And then you can measure yourself with him, too. 

Felix. I have no desire to measure myself with him, I can 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 221 

assure you. To be in such a hurry to measure one's self is so 
chihlish. 

Philip. Well, but it is not childish to be in a hurry to see 
one's friends, is it ? 

Felix. That depends upon what sort of friends they are. 

Philip. Sort of friends ! What do you mean ? I know but 
one sort of friends — good friends. 

Felix. But I know several sorts of friends ; and so will you 
when you have been in Lon'on.^ For instance, there are town 
friends and country friends. 

Cherry. And country mice "and city mice. Do you remem- 
ber that fable, Felix ? 

Felix. Not I ; I have so many other things in my head now, 
1 have no room for fables, I promise you. 

Philip. Cherry, let us go on with our business. 

Felix. And what is your mighty business, pray ? What's all 
this trumpery ? 

Cherry. Trumpery ! Oh ! Felix, don't kick my nosegays ; 
they are for my father and mother, and this is Father's 
birthday. 

Felix. What is your father's birthday to me ? 

Cherry. Nothing, perhaps ; but do, pray, then, if you 
ple-a-se^ stand a little farther off. 

Felix. I won't stir. 

Philip (^ pushing^. You shall though! — for you have no 
right to trample on my sister's nosegays. 

Felix. Don't push me, or I'll make you repent, 

Philip. You cannot make me repent it, for I know it is right 
to defend my sister when she is trampled upon ; and if you had 
been in London a hundred times, and a hundred million of 
times, you could not make me believe it to be wrong. And 
if you beat me to a jelly, you could never make me repent 
of it. 

Cherry (putting herself between them). Oh! don't quarrel, 

1 For the pronunciation of London which Felix affects, see note, p. 124. 



222 MARIA EBGEWOBTH 

don't fight. Felix, here's a rose for you. Philip, he did not 
mean to do me any harm, I'm sure. Come, we had better go 
home and dress up my father's room. Come, dear Philip, 
help to carry this great basket ; you see I cannot carry it by 
myself, and we shall be late, indeed we shall. 

Pliil'p. Well, I'll go with you^ Cherry; but mind, I don't 
run — at least I don't run away from you, Mr. Felix. You may 
come after me and beat me if you like it — and if you can. 

(^Exeunt Cherry and Philip.) 

Felix. Can ! You pigmy, you are beneath my notice. What 
a little savage it is ! I expected to be treated with rather more 
respect at my return to the country ; but these children have 
no manners. How should they, indeed ! And they don't know 
the difference between one person and another. They did not 
even take notice of my new coat. 

(^Enter Edwin.) 

Edwin. Fe — (^aside) no, it cannot be Felix. I beg your 
pardon, sir, but I took you for a friend of mine. 

Felix. Very likely. Sir. 

Edwin. It is Felix I I cannot be mistaken in his voice. 

Felix. Really, that's odd. 

Edwin. Come, come, Felix, shake hands, and don't play 
the fool. I am sure you must know me. 

Felix. Can't you imagine it possible to forget you ? 

Edwin. 1^ ot ipossihle for a friend'. What I Forget your old 
playfellow, Edwin? Oh, you are only joking ; you want to see 
how I shall take it. 

Felix. You don't take me, I find. Did you never hear of 
cutting a man., of dropping a fellow^ of shirking a hore? 

Edwin. Shirking a bore I 

Felix. You don't seem to see what I would be at ; in plain 
English, you do not understand me. 

Edwin. No, indeed, I do not ; but shake hands, at any 
rate. 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 223 

Felix. Don't shake my arm off, like a country clown. 
Look, this is the way to shake hands genteelly — '' I am very 
glad to see you, Mr. Edwin Spencer — d'y^'do^ d'y'do? Hope 
I have the pleasure to see you in good health ? And all your 
house, I hope, 'scaped the influenza ? Do me the honor to 
remember my compliments to them ; and do me the favor to 
tell me where you are, that I may leave my card the first oppor- 
tunity. ' ' Then bow or nod your head so, and pass on directly. 
That's the thing, 

Edwin. You are not serious ? This is just like characters 
I have read of in plays. Well, I must pass on, as you call it, 
now, for I really am in a great hurry. 

Felix. In a hurry in the country ? What can you have to do ? 

Edwin. That's a secret. 

Felix. A secret worth knowing, hey ? But you don't under- 
stand me. Secrets Worth Knowing is the title of a play I saw 
when I was in Lon'on. 

Edwin. Would you like to see a play to-night ? No, — you 
would rather, I dare say, stay at home with your own father 
and mother, now you are just come back to them. 

Felix. As to that, I don't care ; but what sort of a play, I 
wonder, can you possibly get up in this place ; and what sort 
of a theater can you have ? Where on earth do you act ? 

Edwin. At the bowling green. You must not expect fine 
things. But as it is summer time, the audience can all sit out 
of doors ; and we have carried the benches from the school- 
house — dear, good Dame Deborah lent them to us ; and she 
has worked so hard to make our dresses for us ! And Mr. 
Hampden has lent us not only the bowling green, but the two 
summer houses, and the alcove. That alcove makes the prettiest 
theater ! 

Felix. The prettiest theater ! It is a sign you have never 
seen a real theater. Oh, if you had seen a real theater, as I 
have ! 

Edwin. I am glad I have not, because I should then, per- 
haps, be discontented with ours ; and now we all like it very 



224 MABIA EBGEWORTR 

much. And T do so hope my father will be pleased ! Which 
way are you going now ? If you pass by the schoolhouse, do 
peep in, and you'll see them rehearsing The Sailor s Return. 
That is the name of our little play. Willy Grant, whom you 
may remember, is to act the sailor, and he has a good notion of 
it, and he teaches the rest. Come, do come I Won't you? 

(Exeunt.') 

Scene II. — A Dame School. Dame Deborah in an armchair., 
knitting. Children standing on each side of her., some ivith 
papers^ as if learning hy heart., some looking over the shoulders 
of their companions. 

Willy. Look, dear Dame, how well your Johnny's trousers 
fit me ! And see my sailor's jacket I Now, don't I look like a 
sailor, just come home from sea? And hear how well I can 
whistle (whistles the tune of ^^^Twas in the good ship Rover''). 
That was not quite the tune ; if you would but sing it once 
for me, good Dame Deborah. 

Dame. Ah, my dear boy, my singing days are over. 

Willy. Oh, no, no, they are not ; and I hope they will 
never be, while I am alive. 

Dame. Hoav the youngster talks I (Stroking his head.) 
I shall be laid in my grave long and long before you're a man. 

Willy (stopping her mouth). Don't talk of that, or you'll 
stop my whistling (trying again to whistle). I can't do it, 
now. 

Dame. Well, I must sing for you, I see. 

Dame Deborah sings in a tremulous voice: 

" *Twas in the good ship Rover, 

I sailed the world around ; 
And for three years and over, 

I ne'er touched British ground. 
At length in England landed, 

I left the roaring main ; 
Found all relations stranded, 

And put to sea again." 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 225 

Dame. I forget the next verses, till Ave come to 
"My precious limb was lopped olf." 

Rose {interrupting}. Oli, that about your precious limb, 
Willy, must be left out ; for your leg must not be lopped off, 
because you are to dance a hornpipe. 

Willi/. That's true ; and I'll dance it this minute, that I 
may be quite perfect. (^ITe dances a hornpipe.} 

Dame. Very well ! Very well done, my Willy ! But you 
should have a little stick under your arm ; that was the fashion, 
at least in my days. 

Willy. I have one here, and I'll peel it quite white in a 
minute. (^Sits down to peel the stick.} 

Hose. Dame, I have my part quite perfect now ; don't you 
think so ? 

Dame. As to that, you will do well enough ; only, my 
Rosy, take care not to speak so fast, and make your voice 
shake a little. 

Nancy. Mine is a very, very long part, and I have a very, 
very short memory. Dear Dame, will you prompt me exceed- 
ingly loud — as loud as this? (^Baiuling.} 

Dame. The company. Love, Avould hear that. Do not be 
frightened, and I dare say your memory will serve you very 
well. 

Nancy. But how can I help being frightened before so many 
people ? Now I am not the least bit afraid when I am saying 
anything to you. Dame. 

Mary. No, to be sure ; who could be afraid of our Dame — 
except naughty children ? Dame Deborah, will you lend me 
one of your nice plaited cajDS for this evening ? 

Nancy. And your black mittens and best shoes to me ? 

Rose. And your nice silk handkerchief to me ? 

Nancy. And a Avhite apron for me ? 

Dame. Ay, ay. Dears ; only patience, till I can find my keys. 

Nancy. But, Dame Deborah, I have a great favor to ask, — 
I am almost afraid. 

SCH. IN COM, — 15 



226 MABIA EBGEWORTH 

Dame. Out with it ! You know none are afraid of me but 
naughty children. 

Nancy, Will you be so very very good as to lend me your 
velvet hood ? Because I am to be a very old woman. 

Rose. Not at all; you are only to be a middle-aged sort of 
woman. Dame Deborah's black bonnet would just do for you, 
and the velvet hood for me, because I am to be a really old 
woman — a grandmother with a stick — this way. 

Nancy. Very true ; but Dame Deborah's Sunday bonnet ! 
Her best black bonnet ! Oh, I could not think of that ; it's a 
great deal too good for me. 

Omnes. Oh, yes, it is a great deal too good for us to meddle 
with ! 

Dame. My dear children, I do not think anything I have in 
this world is too good for you. To be sure, that's little enough ; 
but, such as it is, you are heartily welcome, for you are good 
children, and I love you one and all. It is the greatest pleas- 
ure I have on earth to see you happy. Dears, and in your own 
innocent plays to help you all I can. Here, Rose, Love, take 
this key, for you understand a lock, and unlock yonder press, 
and there you may suit yourselves to your fancies — only don't 
lose my black silk mittens, and leave me one clean cap for this 
evening. Dears. (^The children go to rummage. Dame Deborah 
aside.') They are as good children, I will say that for them, 
— though I should not praise 'em, being all, I may say, my 
own, as much as if they were all born my own — they are as 
good children as any on the face of this earth ; always speak- 
ing the truth, and honest, so that I could trust them anywhere 
and with anything or anybody ; then so dutiful, so willing and 
obedient, so sweet-tempered, and so grateful for the little one 
does for them ! Expert enough at their needles, too, and for 
their ages no ways backward at their books ! But these are 
not the first things with me. Their duty to their God and 
their neighbor, first and foremost, I have taught them to 
the best of my ability; and if I die to-morrow, I shall die 
with a clear conscience on that score. But this is no time 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 227 

to talk of dying. Well, Dears, have you found all you 
want? 

Rose. Oh, yes, yes ; thank you, thank you. Dame. Look 
how well the velvet hood suits me ; and though your shoes 
have high heels, and are rather too large. Dame, see, I can 
walk in them exceedingly well. 

Willy. Girls, never mind your heels and hoods and caps 
and bonnets, but let us try and do better that part of my 
coming home. Here, Rose, you are to be my grandmother; 
here's your stick, and here's your spectacles. Sit you down 
in the great chair, reading your book. Now, Grandmother, 
remember you must not know me too soon, or you spoil all. 
I seem, you know, only a strange gentleman, as it were ; and 
what's that to you ? So you keep on minding your book, you 
know, natural like ; and you must not stare at the passenger, 
and do remember that you are very, very old. 

Rose. Ay, sure ; have not I a velvet hood, — see, — tied 
under my chin? 

Willy. But that won't do quite of itself. It won't do if you 
jump about so nimbly, and turn your head so quick and smart. 
You must keep in mind that your eyes be dim, and that you can't 
see without your spectacles ; and you must stick 'em on your 
nose without laughing — this way — natural-like, and take 'em 
off, and wipe 'em slow, with your apron, as our Dame does ; and 
then put your finger in your book, to keep your place, and 
hold the spectacles, so. Do try to look like a real old woman. 

Rose (^sitting in the attitude of an old woman). Is that it? 
I hope I am old enough now to please you, and slow enough, 
too. I cannot, for the life of me, be slower than this ; and 
Master Edwin himself said I was slow enough last time. But 
you are more particular, by a great deal, than he. Howsome- 
ever, I will not be cross. Am I cross. Dame Deborah ? 

Dame. Not more than an old woman may be. An old 
woman may be cross sometimes. 

Rose. But you are never cross ; and I will be such an old 
woman as you are. 



228 MARIA EDGEWORTR 

Willy. That will do bravely, Rosy — {fixes her hand in the 
proper position). Xow, all I ask of you, Rosy, is to take heed 
not to know me till the old dog jumps up and licks my hand, 
t'irst, when he comes up smelling, you are to call him aAvay, 
and bid him not be troublesome to the gentleman. You must 
call out, " Keeper ! Keeper ! Come hither ! Come hither, sir ! " 
But the dog knows better ; he keeps wagging his tail, and 
won't go back to you; then he jumps up and puts his paws 
on my breast, and you cry, '' Down ! down ! " in a fuss, be- 
cause of his dirty paws. Then he licks my hand. 

Rose. And then I may speak, sure ? And then I may 
throw down my spinning wheel, and cry, " My boy, Willy ! 
my own good grandson, Willy ! " 

Willy. But stay; we are not come to that yet. Where's 
the real dog? Keeper! Keeper! Keeper! He'd come to my 
whistle if he was at the Land's End. {Whistles.) Keeper! 
Keeper ! Keeper ! I'll have him here in a trice. {Exit., whis- 
tling.) Sit still. Rosy — stock still. 

Dame. But I be sadly afraid when Willy has him, Keeper 
will never do his part right. 

Rose. Oh ! dear Dame, if you'd teach him your own self, 
he could not but learn. 

Dame {shaking her head). Ah, my child, he's too old to 
learn ; and I don't know how to teach dogs. I had rather teach 
you ten hundred — that is to say, one thousand times over. 

Rose. Oh ! I wish Willy and his dog would make haste, 
for I'm tired sitting stock still, waiting for him ; and my 
hand has the cramp, so it has. I wish he Avould come. Do 
look out for him, Daisy ! What have we here ? 

{Enter Jenny Parrot., with bandboxes.) 

Jenny. Dear heart ! Pity me ! Such a load — so hot up the 
hill ; and such a rough road ! Haven't walked so much this 
twel'month, except in Lon'on streets, which is as smooth as 
my hand. 



TEE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 229 

Dame (aside). Rosy, my spectacles, dear; they're on your 
nose. Who is it? (Aloud.) Jenny Parrot! Welcome, wel- 
come, Jenny. Sit ye down. 

Jenny (throws herself into the Dame's chair). I ha'n't a leg 
to stand upon, I vow and purtest. 

Dame. Tired, after your journey ? 'Tis a long journey 
enough. When did you get home ? 

Jenny. Last night at tea. 

Dame. And we not know till now ! Well ! If your mother 
had been alive, she'd have been here to tell me, if it were 
ten o'clock at night, even, that she had come. But I won't 
scold; you are very good to come at all, for maybe you are 
wanted at home. • 

Jenny. No, no ; my young lady sent me here this minute. 
Besides, as to being wanted, I'm my own mistress, for else I 
shouldn't condescend to stay with her, for I could have got 
places enough, and with the quality, in Lon'on. Oh ! Lon'on 
is a fine place ! 'Tis a pity you were never there. Mistress 
Deborah. 

Dame. Call me Dame,^ if you be pleased, Jenny Parrot. 

Jenny (speaking very quickly). Well, Dame Deborah, as I 
was saying, you've no notion of the fine things I've seed 2 since 
I seed you ; such loads of fine ladies, and fine gentlemen, and 
milliners, and mantuamakers, and lace, and ribbons, and coaches. 



1 The title Dame was a mark of distinction very dear to the schoolmistress 
of a former age. To this Shenstone alludes in the following stanza of The 
Schoolmistress : — 

" Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, 
Ne pompous title did debauch her ear ; 
Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt, forsooth, 
Or Dame, the sole additions she did hear ; 
Yet these she challenged, these she held right dear, 
Ne would esteem him act as mought behove, 
Who should not honored eld with these revere ; 
For never title yet so mean could prove, 
But there was eke a mind which did that title love." 

2 This is rather an exaggerated error. Illiterate people are more likely to say 
/ seen, for both past and past perfect of the verb see. 



230 MARIA EDGEWOETH 

and fans, and diamonds, and feathers, and flowers, and farces, 
and balls, and Sadler's Wells,^ and lions, and bears, and the 
TowW^ and St. Paul's, and bonnets, and caps, and the King, and 
the Queen, and the Princesses, and the waxwork ! 

Dame. Take breath, Jenny. 

Jenny. Breath, forsooth! D'ye think I'm in an asthma? 
Why, I could talk ten times as much without ever taking 
breath, except you put me out. Where was I? Oh, ^^ Mrs.^ 
Jane^^ says my young lady to me (for nobody. Dame, ever 
calls me anything but Mrs, Jane)., "we must see everything, 
Mrs. Jane," says she. Says I, " To be sure, ma'am, 'tis so 
fitting for a young lady like you to see everything that is to be 
seen." So hurry, skurry went we; dress, dress, dress; rattle, 
rattle, rattle. Lord ! You'll not know my young lady again ; 
every tittle on her spick and span new, from the top on her head 
to the sole on her foot, — silk stockings, and all flesh colored ! 
Miss Babberly was always tasty. But how now, children, 
for your life don't lay your dirty fingers on that there 
bandbox. 

Dame. Their fingers be seldom or never dirty ; I will say 
that for them. But stand back. Dears, for you have nothing 
to do with bandboxes, and I am not sorry for it. No offense. 

Jenny. But if you hnewed what was in that bandbox — but 
I'm to be mumchance ; my young lady's to tell all. Good-by 
to you. Dame, I've not had time to say a word yet, but some 
other day — some other time ; not a syllahil am I to say till 
Miss Babberly comes. 

Dame. Miss Babberly ! Is she coming here ? 

Jenny. Ay, is she — will be here by and by. Didn't I tell 
you so ? That was what I came to say. Miss Babberly sent 
me on to give ye notice, and wouldn't let me stay to finish 
dressing on her out. 

Dame. Dressing her out ! To come here ! 

1 A theater in London. 

'^ The title il/r.s. was formerly often applied to unmarried women, and, as a 
mark of special respect and courtesy, even to young girls. 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 231 

Jenny. No, no ; but to go through the vilhige. Folks would 
stare indeed if she want dressed somewhat ^ extraordinary, just 
come from Lon'on. Well, I'm glad she didn't come along with 
me, for when she's by there's no getting in a word endways or 
edgeways or anyways. She likes to have all the talk to herself ; 
that's the plague of it. Now I must be going to the bowling 
green to tell the Lon'on news, and then to Squire Strut's ; for 
his nurse's maid's my foster-brother's sister, so for old relation's 
sake must give her a call. And then to Mrs. Blair's ; for her 
housekeeper's brother's son's married to my cousin-german, 
Peggy Patten, you know, so she must have a call. Lordl 
When one comes from Lon'on, one has so many friends to call 
upon and so much to do and so much to say, one ha' need 
have a hundered heads and a thousand legs and a hundered 
thousand tongues. So good-morrow to you. Dame. I ha'n't 
had time to say a word to you, but will presently. Chil- 
dren, not a finger on the bandboxes, on your peril ! 

(^Exit Jenny Parrot. ) 

Dame. Well, if her poor tongue be not tired before night, 
it will be a wonderful tongue. But I loved talking once upon 
a time myself, I remember; and we must not expect to find 
gray heads upon green shoulders, especially when just come 
from London. Children, Dears, let us carry these bandboxes ; 
they will be safer there — 

Iio%e. But you know we must not lay a finger upon them 
for our lives. Dame. 

Dame. Then open the door for me, and I will carry them 
myself ; though, to my knowledge, I never carried a bandbox 
in my life before. (Exit Dame., carrying a handhox. Rose., 

Mary, and children follow .^ 

Rose. Oh ! If the bandbox should open ! 

Mary. Oh ! If it should fall ! 

Rose. I'm glad I'm not to carry it. I wonder what's in it I 

(Exeunt. ) 

1 The dropping of the h in words like somewhat is an error made to this day 
even by people of education. 



:232 MABIA EDGE WORTH 

ACT II. 

Scene I. — Udwin, Philip^ and Cherry/. Edwin writing at a 

small table. 

Cherry. Make haste ! Make haste ! Write very fast, as 
Papa does. 

Edwin. When I have finished all these notes, you will fold 
them up, Cherry, and Philip will seal them. 

Cherry. But let me seal some, Philip ; only let me press the 
seal down, will you? I am old enough for that. 

Philip. We shall see. Have you written to invite every- 
body in the village, Edwin ? 

Cherry. Let us count how many notes are there — One, two, 
three. 

{Enter Felix. Edivin rises and comes forward. Philip and 
Cherry remain at the table^ folding notes.) 

Felix. Well, I've called as you desired, to see the children's 
theater. 

Edwin. Thank you ; and do you think it will do ? 

Felix (whips his hoots and sneers). Why, as to that, if you 
ask my opinion, as a friend, candidly, I think the thing will be 
a horrid bore ; it will never do, even for the country. Take 
my advice, and give it up. 

Philip and Cherry. Give it up ! Give it up ! Oh, no, 
Edwin, don't give it up. 

Cherry. I am sure Papa and Mamma will like it. 

Philip. And all the poor children, and Dame Deborah, and 
everybody would be so much disappointed. Oh, don't give it up. 

Edwin. Perhaps, Felix, you could show me some of the 
faults, that I might mend them. 

Felix (sarcastically). 'Pon my honor, I see no faults that 
can be mended. But why did you not take some real play ; 
some of the new plays that have been acted in Lon'on? Then 
we might have had a chance of some fun, instead of all this 
stupid stuff about children and grandmothers and old nurses. 



TttE DAMS SCHOOL HOLIDAY 233 

Edivin. I neyer saw any of the new plays. 

Felix. Never ! Then how could you, my dear fellow, pos- 
sibly think of writing anything in the dramatic line, as they 
call it? 

Edivin. You knoAv, mine is onl}^ a little play for children. 

Philip. But Avill you, Felix, who have seen so many of these 
grand plays that have been acted in London, tell us what sort 
of things they are? 

• Felix. Oh, I could not make such children as you under- 
stand anything about them. 

Edwin. But perhaps I could understand them. Try, will 
you? 

Felix. Really, I don't remember exactly. I've seen so 
man}^ they are jumbled together in my head ; and they are 
so like one another, there's no telling 'em asunder. There's 
;i d good character in one — I forget which. 

Cherry (^aside to Philip}. Did you hear the -word Felix said 
l)efore (/ood character f 

Felix. A d good character, upon my honor. There's 

a man that's a buck, and has been a tailor ; and he's always 
saying, '' Push on ! Keep moving ! Push on ! Keep moving ! " 

Edwin. But is that all he says? 

Felix. All that I remember. You know, one only remem- 
bers the good things. 

Edwin. Well, but I suppose he does something very 
diverting. 

Felix. Yes, that he does. He tears his coat, and his father 
takes it off to mend it. 

Edivin. Upon the stage ? 

Felix. Yes, upon the stage ; for his father was tailor, too, 
therefore it was quite in character — quite natural. So the son 
stands without his coat ; and while he is standing in that con- 
dition, a fine lady with a great fortune, whom he is courting, 
comes pop in upon them. And then he scrambles and shuffles 
himself into his coat, this way — (imitates}^ and he or the 
father tailor, I forget Avhich, sits down upon the needle, and 



234 MARIA EDGEWORTH 

l)ricks himself. And then all the house clap and cry " Encore ! 
Uncore ! " 

Edwin. But this is a farce, is it not? 

Felix. No, no, it's a comedy. Surely I must know, that 
have been in Lon'on and have read the playbill. The farce 
always comes after the play — do you understand ? First there 
is a tragedy, or else a comedy, do ye see ; and afterward a 
farce. Now this did not come afterward, so it could not be a 
farce, you know ; and it could not be a tragedy, because there 
was no killing, and it ended happily. So it must be a comedy. 

Edwin. But are all things that are neither tragedies nor 
farces, comedies? 

Felix. To be sure. What else can they be, unless they 
are operas? And those are all singing, almost. 

Edwin. But all the new comedies cannot be like this, Felix. 
What other characters do you remember? 

Felix. I don't recollect any in particular; but I know in 
general there is always a dasher, a buck, a dandy, and he 
must walk this way, and stand this way, and lounge this way; 
and he must swear and slash about, and he must have a whip 
or a little stick, and his neck must be made as thick as his 
body, with cravats over his chin. That's his character. 

Edwin. His dress, you mean. 

Felix. Well, but I tell you, the dress makes the character. 

Edwin. Oh, I did not know that. 

Felix. For sometimes a man that's dressed in character 
makes the house roar before he has said a word. Then there 
must be a fine lady, a flirt, a coquette ; and she must be dressed, 
too, in the tip, tip, top of the fashion, and she must stare this 
way, or put up her glass so, and everybody — 'squires and 
baronets and Lords and all — must be in love with her. I mean 
if she has a large fortune ; and if she has nothing, then some 
ridiculous, old, old man, hobbling this way, must be in love 
with her, and she must quiz him. 

Philip. Quiz him ! What's that? 

Felix. Pshaw I I can't explain it — but everybody knows — 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 235 

those that ar'n't in the fashion are quizzes ; and all poor people 
and old people, uncles and aunts, mothers, and fathers in wigs 
are quizzes^ and always are quizzed in the new plays. Without 
them there could be no fun. Why do you look so stupid, 
Child? (To Philip.} 

Philip. Because I do not understand what you mean by 
quizzing and quizzed and quiz. 

Cherry, Look in the dictionary, can you not, Philip ? 

Edwin. You will not find it in the dictionary, my dear. 

Felix. No, no, because it is a fashionable word. How can 
you be so stupid, Child ! It means taking a person in — making 
them look like fools — making a joke of them. 

Philip. But, then, what do you mean by quizzing fathers and 
mothers, and uncles and aunts, and poor people and old people ? 

Felix (with infinite contempt}. Child ! I Avish you would not 
pester me with such foolish questions. What can you know 
of the world, and how can I explain these things to you ? 

Cherry. Conje away, Philip ; let us mind our business, and 
seal the notes. I'll light the candle. (Exit Cherry.} 

Felix. Where was I ? Oh ! Besides a fine dashing gentle- 
man and a fine dashing lady, and some quizzical old people, 
there must be attorneys and apothecaries, that are always 
ridiculous ; and there must be an Irishman, to make blunders 
and talk with the brogue ; and there must be a Frenchman, to 
talk broken English, and say dis and dat.^ and a few words of 
French — co^nmeilfaut — je ne sais quoi — pardonnezmoi — tout 
au contraire. And then the scenes must change very often, and 
there must be some good songs — nonsense songs. 

Edwin. What do you mean by nonsense songs? 

Felix. Oh, anything will do if you sing it well ; for in 
stance — (Sings:} 

" With a wig-wig-wag ; 
With a jig-jig-jag; 
With a crick-crick-crack ; 
With a nick-nick-nack ; 
With a whack-whack-whack, 
On the back-back-back." 



2^6 MABiA EDGP.WOttTH 

Philip. Oh, Felix; but really! It is like a little cMlcVs 
song. 

Felix. No matter what it is like, it is very much admired — 
quite the rage. 

(^Reenter Cherry^ with a candle.^ 

But this is nothing to " The Little Farthing Rushlight.^^ Give 
me that candle, Cherry, and you shall hear it. 

(^Felix sings " The Little Farthing Rushlight. ''^^ 

Philip and Cherry (laughing). Oh, Felix ; it is impossible 
that grown-up people can be so very silly. 

Felix. Silly ! Nothing's silly that's the fashion. 

(Enter a Servant.) 

Servant. Mr. Edwin, there's a peddler below. He has a load 
of fine things — toothpick cases and pins and broaches and 
watches. 

Felix. Who would look at such a traveling fellow's trum- 
pery, that has been in Lon'on? 

Edwin. We do not want anything. Don't keep the poor 
man waiting. 

Cherry. But, Edwin, let us look at the pretty boxes and 
things. 

Philip. And the watches ! Oh, Edwin ! Let us look at the 
watches. 

Edwin. As we do not intend to buy anything from this 
man, we should not give him the trouble of opening his 
pack. 

Philip. No ; to be sure we should not. 

Edivin. Tell him that he need not wait. 

Servant. Sir, the poor man fell against a stone, and has cut 
his leg sadly. 

Edwin. Cut his leg ! Let us go and see him ; perhaps we can 
do some good — (Edwin going.) 

Cherry. Oh ! I know an excellent thing — lint ! Dame 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 237 

Deborah ^aid so. Daine Deborah is the best person in the 
world for lint, when 1 cut my hand. Oh, Philip ! Stay for me. 

Philip. Come along then, quick. (^Exeunt Philip and 
Cherry.^ 

Felix. Lord ! What a fuss about a cut on a peddler's shin. 
Why, if it was the King or my Lord Mayor himself, they could 
not run faster. But, poor children, they know nothing of t]ie 
world. How should they? {Groes to the table and lool'S at the 
notes.} Heyday. What a parcel of notes — invitations to the 
world and his wife, to see this foolish play. Edwin thinks to 
have all the village at his beck, I see, and to be Lord of the 
manor, and King over us all ! But it sha'n't do — it sha'n't do. 
He may invite as many people as he pleases; but I'm too 
sharp for him. His play shall not be acted to-night, that I'm 
resolved upon. I'll outwit him yet, or my name is not Felix. 

(Uxit.) 

Scene II. — The Dame School. Dame Deborah in her great 

chair .^ knitting. 

(^Enter Miss Babberlg.} 

Miss Babberly. So, Dame Deborah, are you alive still? 
Looking, for all the world, just as you used to do before I 
went to Lon'on. 

Dame. Ay, Miss, just as I used to do ; and I hope. Miss, 
3^ou are the same. 

Miss Babberly (^aside}. The same! Has the old trowdledum 
no eyes? (^Aloud.} Why, Dame Deborah, you must* be as 
old as St. Paul's or the Monument, at least. I remember you sit- 
ting in that very chair, knitting, ever since I Avas born. La ! 
how tired you must be ; and every one of the old things, and 
the Bible and all, just the same as before I went to Lon'on. 
La ! how dull you must be ; and have you only the old little 
corner of a garden {looking out) that you used to have ? 

Dame. No more. Miss ; but I be happy — at your service. 

Miss Babberly. Why, how can you be happy with such a 



238 MARIA EDGEWORTH 

little bit of a thing ? Our town garden is twenty times as big : 
and I and Papa are always fretting because it is no bigger. 

Dame. Ah, Miss ! A little thing will make a person happy 
if they be so inclinable ; and all the great things in this mortal 
world will not do so much if they be not so inclined. 

Miss Bahherly. Very true, very likely ; but I did not come 
here to be preached to. Pray, did not my maid Jane leave a 
bandbox here ? 

Dame. Ay, she did Qgoing for the bandbox and bringing it 
out^, and here it is, safe. Miss. What would you be pleased to 
have done with it ? 

Miss Babberly (opening it). In the first and foremost place. 
Dame, you must do something for me. 

Dame. Any service in my power, and in reason and right, 
you may be sure of from me, Miss Babberly ; for I loved your 
mother from the time she was so high, learning her crisscross 
row at my knee. She was as sweet a child, God bless her, as — 

Miss Babberly (interrupting). Ay, I dare say she was. I 
wonder they did not send her to a Lon'on school ; but that's 
over, now. Look here. Dame Deborah (opening the bandbox)^ 
look at this elegant silk shawl handkerchief, as good as new ; 
I never wore it, but at my Lady Grimdrum's one night, and 
once at Yauxhall, and once at Ranelagh, and twice at the play. 
I don't know what my maid, Mrs. Jane, will say to my giving 
away so good a thing, which, by right, ought to be hers ; but 
here. Dame, take it, and now — 

Dame. I ask your pardon. Miss ; I cannot take it. It would 
not become me to wear such a fine thing. But I am as much 
beholden to you as if I took it ; and glad, moreover, I am, to 
see you have so much of your mother's heart, to think, when so 
far away, of a poor old woman. 

3Iiss Babberly (aside). La, how she mistakes; I'm sure I 
never thought of her when I was away. (Aloud.) Come, 
come, take this shawl, without more parading or palaver, and 
throw away this horrid dowdy thing, that looks as if you had 
worn it these hundred years. 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 239 

Dame. No, Miss, no. With your good leave, I value this, 
plain serge though it be, above all the shawls, silk or other, 
that ever can be ; for it was made of the spinnings ^ of my dear 
children, two generations of them. And your own sweet mother 
had her hand in it. I think I see her now, a-turning that very 
wheel yonder, under my own eye, for the first time. Pretty 
soul ! God bless her little fingers ! 

Miss Bahherly (aside). She's doting, certainly. She'd talk 
forever if I'd let her, I believe. 

Dame (after wiping her eyes). Well, Miss Babberly, pray 
be pleased to tell me what I can do to serve you ; for 'twill be 
a satisfaction to me to do anything, be it ever so little, for your 
mother's daughter. 

Miss Bahherly. What I want, in truth, is little enough — 
only your old school benches for to-night. 

Dame. Ah ! You should be heartily welcome to them. Miss, 
only that I have promised them to Master Edwin for to- 
night. 'Tis his father's birthday, and he has made a little play 
for our young folks to act ; and all the village, and even old I, 
reckon to be at the bowling green this night, by six o'clock. 

Miss Bahherly. Well, well, I know all that ; but my brother 
Felix and I have a scheme of our own, and we must have the 
benches, do you understand ? And we'll show your young folks 
how to do something better worth seeing by all the village 
than this nonsensical play of Master Edwin's, as you call him. 
What can he know of plays — he that has never been in 
Lon'on? 

Dame. Indeed, Miss Babberly, I cannot say as to that. But 
this I know, that I have promised him my benches. 

Miss Bahherly. Pooh ! What signifies your promise ? 

Dame. My promise ! What signifies it. Miss ! Poor as I am, 
my promise is as much to me — as much, ay, as mountains of 
shawls would be to you. Miss Babberly. 



1 A spinning wheel was a part of the regular furnishing of the dame schools, 
and girls were instructed at school in the art of spinning. 



240 3IARIA EDGEWORTH 

Miss Bahherly. La ! How the woman talks. 

Dame. Though I be nobody., I would not break my promise, 
look you, for anybody upon earth. Miss — not for the Queen's 
Majesty, if so be she were to come down from her throne in 
her royal robes, and crown upon her head, to this poor cottage, 
and say to me, " Dame Deborah, break your word for me, and 
I'll make you a Duchess." I would make answer — No, please 
your Queenship, I have a soul to be saved as well as your 
Majesty's Ladyship ; and as to being a Duchess here upon earth, 
I reckon to be soon an angel in Heaven. 

Miss Bahherly. You an angel ! You look wondrous like one, 
indeed ! You must alter greatly before you are an angel. 

Dame. True, Miss Babberly ; and great alterations do come 
to pass in a short time, as we see in people even here upon 
earth. 

Miss Bahherly. So the short and the long of it is, that you 
won't lend us your old benches. 

Dame. I cannot. Miss, having promised to lend them to 
another. 

Miss Bahherly. La I You could make an excuse, if you had 
but a mind. Could not you say that you did not know we was 
to come home, and that you'd promised them first, long ago, 
to me ? 

Dame. Would not that be a lie, Miss? 

Miss Bahherly. Dear me, no ; that's only called an excuse, in 
Lon'on. 

Dame. I never was in Lon'on, Miss — (aside) and wish 
you had never been there neither, if this is all the good you've 
learned by it. 

Miss Bahherly. Keep your old benches to yourself, then. 
I'll be bound we'll do as well without them ; and, I'll answer 
for it, I'll get your little dears to do what we want, in spite of 
you. 

Dame. It will not be in spite of me, if it be anything right 
that you want of them ; but in spite of you — no offense meant, 
Miss Babberly — they will not do anything that's wrong. 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 241 

Miss Babherly, Riglit or wrong, I'll make them do what- 
ever I choose. (^Dame shakes her head.} That is, when you 
are not by to shake your head at them, and frighten them out 
of their wits. 

Dame. As to that, they ben't a bit afraid of me. Miss ; 'tis 
only of doing wrong they be taught to be afraid. I will not 
say a word to them, one way or other, but just stand by, this 
Avay ; and do you ask them. Miss Babberly, what you please. 
If it be right, they'll say yes ; if wrong (^striking her stick on 
the ground) J they'll say no ! 

Miss Bahherly (softening her voice). Oh, come, come. Dame 
Deborah, don't be so stiff and cross, but do you get them to do 
what I want. I only just want these children to give up act- 
ing this foolish play of Edwin's, and my brother and I will 
show them how to act a much better. 

Dame. Oh, surely. Miss Babberly, you would not ask them 
to do such an ill-natured thing by poor Mr. Edwin, when he 
has taken such pains to get this little play ready for his 
father's birthday. 

Miss Babherly. He was very ill-natured to me ; he did not 
dance Avith me this time last year at the ball, and one bad 
turn deserves another. 

Dame. And can you. Miss Babberly, remember to bear 
malice a whole year? No, no; take my advice. 

Miss Bahherly. I don't want any advice. I hate advice. 
All I ask of you is to let me see the children. Where are 
they? 

Dame. They be out in the field hard by ; but if I ring this 
little bell, they will be here in a trice. 

Miss Bahherly. Ring it then ; ring it directly. 

Dame. Ah ! My dear Miss Babberly, do ye think a bit, and 
you'll not go to do a spiteful thing, and you'll not go to spoil 
all the sport of these innocent little ones, and breed ill-will, 
especially on this happy day. (Dame Deborah lays her hand 
affectionately on Miss Bahherly^ s arm.) Ah, my dear Miss, 
think a bit, think a bit, do ye ! pray ! 

SCH. IN COM. — 16 



242 3iABIA EDGEWORTH 

Miss Bahherly (^shaking her off). I have thought long 
enough, and I hate thinking. Ring ! ring ! That's all I want 
of you ; ring, ring, and no more preaching. If you won't ring, 
I will. (^The Dame sighs, and leans on her stick. Miss Bahherly 
snatches the hell and rings,) 

Scene III. — Enter the children. Miss Bahherly, taking arti- 
ficial flowers out of a handhox. 

Miss Bahherly. Come, children ! I want you to do some- 
thing for me. Look at these beautiful things, just fresh from 
Lon'on. I'll give you these if you'll do what I want. 

All the children exclaim. How pretty ! How pretty ! 

Nancy. How like a real lilac I I should like to have that 
pretty bunch of laburnums. 

Mary. And those roses — oh ! how pretty they are ; but 
they have no smell. I would much rather have the real sweet 
roses in our Dame's garden. 

Miss Bahherly. But real roses wither in winter. Now, you 
may stick these artificial flowers in your bonnet, and they will 
last forever. Don't they look pretty thisw^ay? (^Places them 
in Mary's hat.) 

Hannah (laughing). They look very odd, Mary, in your old 
hat. I don't think they are suited to us poor children. 

Miss Bahherly. Very likely. Yet they are quite the fashion, 
I assure you. 

Rose. But we know nothing of fashion; we care nothing 
for fashion ! 

Miss Bahherly (^aside). They are the most stupid, countri- 
fied creatures I ever saw. (^Aloud.) But only consider, Mary, 
how this becomes you. 

Mary. Indeed, Miss, I thank you kindly, but I do not think it 

would become me at all to wear such things. Would it. Dame? 

(Dame Dehor ah puts her fingers on her lips, and is silent.) 

Miss Bahherly, But, Hannah, this necklace ; would you not 
like to have this? 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 248 

Hannah. No, Miss, I am obliged to you. I have no wish 
for it ; I have no use for it. 

Rose. Would you be pleased to tell us at once. Miss, what 
it is that you Avant us to do for you — because, if we can do it 
we will, Avithout any presents. 

Miss Bahherly. Why, I only want you to give up acting 
this foolish thing for Mr. Edwin, and my brother Felix and I 
will show you how to do an impromptu of our own invention. 
Then you will have nothing to get by heart, and will have an 
elegant supper ready for you after it's over, and sweetmeats 
of all sorts ; and everybody^ that is, all the company we have 
in our house from Lon'on, Avill admire you. 

Mary {to Rose aside'). Sweetmeats of all sorts ! Do you 
hear that ? 

Hannah (aside). Oh ! I should like sweetmeats very much. 

Miss Bahherly (aside). Ha! ha! I see, the sweetmeats will 
do the business. 

Rose (aside to Mary). But I would not break my word for 
sweetmeats. Would you, Mary ? 

Mary (aside to Rose). No, to be sure. 

Hannah (aside to Mary and Rose). No, no ; we must not do 
that. 

Rose (aside to Mary and Hannah). Besides, Mr. EdAvin is 
ahvays so good to us. 

Miss Bahherly. Well, children, do you intend to keep me 
here all day ? Yes or no ? 

Rose. No, thank you. Miss. We are much obliged to you, 
but Ave cannot break our promise, you know, with Mr. EdAvin. 

Miss Bahherly. Speak for yourself only, if you please. Miss 
Pert. Don't say we^ for I dare say there are many here who 
are not of your mind. 

The children all exclaim. No ! no ! Not one ! Rose has said 
what Ave all thought. 

Dame. This is just Avhat I expected from you, my dear 
children. (She goes to kiss them.) I told Miss Babberly so. 
I advised her — 



•244 MABIA EDGEWOBTH 

Miss Bahherly. Don't talk of advising me, you preaching 
old woman ! (^Pushes the crutch from under Dame Deborah as 
she stoops, and throivs her down.} 

Children exclaim. She pushed our Dame down ! 

QSome of them help the Dame up., while Mary catches hold of 
Miss Bahherly s hands, and Rose throws Miss Bahherh/s 
shaivl over the young lady, and winds it round her while 
she struggles and screams.} 

Dame. My Dears, what are you about ? She could not 
mean to do me any harm. 

Rose. Oh, yes, she did, she did; and now we have her 
hands safe. 

Miss Bahherly. Impertinence ! Insolence ! Children ! Brats ! 
Let me go I You shall be all put in jail — Papa will put you all 
in the pillory for this — if you don't let me loose, this minute. 

Rose. Not till you have asked our Dame's pardon. 

Miss Bahherly (struggles in vain, crying loudly}. Let me 
loose I Let me loose, children ! 

Dame. My Dears, this must not be. I will let you loose, 
Miss, if you will only be still. (She unwinds the shawl, and 
sets Miss Bahherly at liherty.} You know, my dear cliildren, 
we should return good for e^il. 

Miss Bahherly. You shall all suffer for this, I promise you. 

(Uxit Miss Bahherly.} 

Rose. Miss Babberly, you have left your bandbox. 

Dame. Run after her with it. Rosy, and carry it to her 
house. Pray be civil, my child. You will find me, when you 
come back, sitting out under the great tree in the meadov\% 
hearing these little ones in their parts. And do you come and 
say yours; do you mind me. Rose? (Exeunt.} 

ScEXE IV. — A room, ornamented with houghs, garlands, and 
flowers. Bdivin, Philip, and Cherry. 

Philip (on the top of a stepladder}. Oh! I am very glad 
Edwin likes our work. 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 245 

Cherry (^clapping her hands). So am 1 1 So am I ! 

Philip. Edwin, will you be so kind as to hang up these 
garlands for me, for I cannot reach quite high enough. 
Edwin, do you think my father will like it ? 

Cherry. Edwin, do you think Mamma will like it ? And 
shall we bring Papa in before dinner, or wait till tea time ? 
Do you think the smell of the flowers is too strong ? I don't 
know what people mean by the smell of flowers being too 
strong for them, Edwin, do 5^ou ? Edwin, do you like the 
smell of honeysuckles or roses best, and do you like these 
dog roses ? 

Edivin. Which of the six questions that you have asked 
me, Cherry, shall I answer first ? 

(^Edwin is busy putting up the garlands.') 

Philip. My dear Cherry, six questions I That is really too 
much. Now, Edwin, don't you think we had better ask 
Mamma to have the tea table here, that we may drink tea 
before we go to the play ? Oh ! my dear Edwin, have the 
children their parts quite perfect? Do you think Rosy will 
act the old grandmother well ? Will Dame Deborah come ? 
I hope she will — I love Dame Deborah. Doesn't Willy play 
the sailor admirably well? And don't the trousers fit him 
well? 

Cherry. Six ! There, Philip, you have asked six questions 
your own self, and without ever waiting for an — My good- 
ness ! Look, Philip ! Edwin ! Edwin ! Look what comes here ! 

(^Enter Willy., his hair and clothes wet. He is folloived by a dog 
as wet as himself., and which has one of its legs tied up.) 

Edtvin. What is the matter, Willy? You look as if you 
had been half drowned. 

Willy. So I have, Master ; but no matter for that. I think 
very little o' that ; I think more o' my dog. If he had but 
let my dog alone, 1 should not ha' minded the rest a straw; 
but he — 



246 MABIA EDGE WORTH 

Edivin. He— Who? 

Cherry. Who ? Whom do you mean by he ? 

Philip. Felix ! He must mean Felix I There is nobody else 
in the world could be ill-natured enough to do such a thing. 

Edwin. But let us hear what he has done, for we have heard 
nothing yet. 

Willy. Why, Master, I had been ever so long looking for my 
dog, that was wanted to rehearse his part in the play, along 
with the rest, as he was very well able to do; and just when I 
had found him, and as we were coming along the path together 
by the water-side, whom should we meet but Mr. Felix. So, 
not having seen he'^ since he came from Lon'on town, I takes off 
my hat, and asks him how he does, as civil as needs be, and was 
then passing on in haste — "Where, now? in such a hurry," 
says he, standing across my way. So, in as few words as might 
be, I told him all about your play, Mr. Edwin. " Give up this 
here nonsensical play," says he, " and I'll show you how to do 
something better." "Give it up ! No, that I won't," says I ; 
" and as to shoAving us something better, I doubt if you could, 
sir," says I. On this, he used some uncivil words about you. 
Master Edwin; which I, not thinking myself bound to bear, 
made answer in my turn, that you were as good as he, and bet- 
ter, and cleverer too, though so be you had not been to Lon'on, 
" Say that again," says he, " and I'll give you as good a ducking 
as ever you had in your life." So I said it again, and he shoved 
me into the river, I not thinking he would do such a thing ; 
for if I had, I would have stood this way, and defied him, so 1 
would. But not being on my guard, souse I went, and my dog 
after me. Well ! I should not have minded at all, only Mr. 
Felix had the malice to throw a stone at my Keeper as he was 
scrambling up the bank, and his poor leg is so hurt he can't 
walk on it ; and so he can't do his part to-night in the play, 
which is what grieves me more than all, because he had it so 
pat, and I had taken such a world of pains to teach him. Not 

1 The misuse of he for him is common among the uneducated in England. 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 247 

but what he learned as fast as a dog could learn. Poor fellow ! 
Poor fellow ! 

Philip. Poor fellow ! Cherry, let us go and ask Mamma to 
give us something for him to eat. 

Edivin. And come with me, Willy, that 1 may get you 
dried, and give you some clean clothes. 

Willy. Oh, no, thank you, Master, I did not come here to 
beg for clothes ; and as to being wet, I don't mind it a farth- 
ing. And as I was in a good cause, I don't think it a shame to 
be ducked. I did not come here to beg for pity, do you see? 
But, Master Edwin, you could do me a great favor. 

Edwin. What is it? Whatever it is, if I can do it, I will. 

Willy. Don't say that before you know what it is, for fear 
you should repent afterward. 

Edwin. No ; I am not in the least afraid of that. Speak — 
tell me what it is I can do for you. 

Willy. Why, Master, I heard say that the King's birthday 
could be put off ; now if your father's birthday could be put 
off for a few days, just till my dog's leg is well enough for him 
to act — for without him it will be nothing. No, I won't say 
that ; but all the pleasure to me would be lost. All ? No, I 
don't say all. In short, I don't know how to ask such a thing ; 
but I do wish the play could be put off till Keeper's leg is 
well. 

Edwin. It shall be put off. You need say no more. I will 
go to my father this moment, and tell him what has happened. 
I promised j^ou, Willy, that I would do anything you asked 
me, and to be sure I keep my word. Now go home and take 
off your wet clothes, and all I ask of you is that you will for- 
give Felix, and let us have no quarrels in our village. 

Willy. I'll forgive him, and I'll never say a word more 
about it. {Exit Edwin. ) 

Well ! I am very, very much obliged to Master Edwin 
for putting off the play till my poor dog's leg is well — 
more obliged than if he had given me ever so many coats 
and hats. That is really good-natured of him, and I love 



248 MARIA EBGEWORTH 

him for it. But he is always so ; he never thinks of himself 
when he can do a kind thing to another. 

(^Enter Cherry and Philip^ with a plate of meat for the dog. ) 

Philip. So the play is put off ! 

Cherry. So the play is put off ! 

Philip. Let us give poor Keeper the meat, at any rate ; it 
is not his fault. 

Cherry. No, it's Felix's fault. Here, Keeper ! Keeper ! 

{They feed the dog.) 

Philip. Willy, you must go home directly, and take off 
your wet clothes ; Edwin bid me not let you stay. It is not 
very civil, I know, to turn you out of the house ; but it is for 
your good. 

Willy. That I am sure it is, when Master Edwin desired it. 
A good morning to you, and thank you for being so kind 
to Keeper. Come along, poor fellow ! Poor fellow ! Come 
along ; I won't walk too fast for you. {Exit Willy.) 

Cherry. Oh, my dear Philip, are you not sorry that poor 
Edwin's play is not to be acted to-night? 

Philip. Very, very sorry indeed; but as soon as Keeper 
gets well, it will be acted. I will tell you what, Cherry, as 
my father's birthday is to be put off, we should take down all 
these flowers, and wait till the day when Edwin's play is to be 
acted, before we show my father our bower. 

Cherry. What ! Pull down all our work — all our beautiful 
garlands — all we have been doing since five o'clock this morn- 
ing — all our bower — all ? 

Philip. Yes, all ; because it would be good-natured to 
Edwin to keep it all for the day when he has his play. Oh, 
Cherry, my dear, let us be good-natured to Edwin, who is so 
good to us, and to everybody. 

Cherry. Well, do — pull it all down, then; and when you 
have done, tell me, and — I will look up. 

( Cherry sits down and hides her face with her hands. Philip 
tears down the branches and flowers.) 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 249 

Philip. Look up, Cherry ; it is all down. 

Cherry. All down! (^After a pause.) I will help you to 
carry the flowers away. It is a great pity ! 

Philip. But we can make it as pretty again another day. 
Come, help me to drag these great boughs. 

(^Exeunt^ dragging off the boughs.) 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — Felix and Miss Bahherly. 

Miss Bahherly. To be insulted in this manner by a parcel 
of beggarly brats and an obstinate old woman ! 

Felix. But what provokes me is that this Edwin has be- 
come quite King of the village, and nothing is to be done con- 
trary to his will and pleasure ; and what a rout about his 
father's birthday and his own nonsensical play. I gave a little 
rascal and his dog one good ducking, however, for talking to 
me about it. Edwin is so cursedly conceited, too ; for I was 
giving him an account of the Lon'on plays, and he did not seem 
to admire them at all. 

Miss Bahherly. Admire them ! No ; he admires nothing but 
himself. He told somebody, who told Jenny Parrot, who told 
me, that he did not see anything to be admired in me — the 
quiz ! 

Felix. Quiz, indeed ! You'll see how finely I'll quiz him be- 
fore this day's over. This foolish play of his shall not be 
acted, I promise him ; and all the people whom he has invited 
shall stand staring at one another, like a parcel of fools, and 
he, fool, in the middle. 

Miss Bahherly. But how ? How ? 

Felix. Oh, leave that to me ; I have contrived it all. Look 
at this key. This is the key of the summerhouse in the bowl- 
ing green, where they have their famous theater. It was lying 
on the table at the porter's lodge just now, Avhen I was there, 
and a bright thought came into my head at the moment. 



250 MARIA EBGEWOBTH 

So I put an old key, which is just the same size, in its place, 
and no one will perceive the difference till night ; and then, 
just when the company, and the actors and actresses, and 
Mr. Manager, and all, want the key, they will stand staring 
at one another, and at last will be forced to go home like 
fools as they are — for not one of 'em would have the spirit 
to break open a gentleman's door. Oh, they'll be finely 
quizzed. 

Miss Bahherly. Excellent ! Excellent ! And those imperti- 
nent children will be punished, just as they ought, for their 
great insolence to me. Did you ever, in all your life, hear of 
anything so impertinent as their tying me up in my own 
scarf ? 

Felix. What ! Did they tie you up quite tight, Bab ? 

Miss Bahherly. Quite tight. 

Felix. With your arms m, close to your sides? 

Miss Bahherly. Yes, just so. 

Felix. Capital ! You must have looked exactly like a 
mummy, Bab; I wish I'd seen you. (^Laughs aloud.') 

Miss Bahherly. Mummy, indeed ! Brother, I wish you 
wouldn't laugh so, like a horse. 

Felix. Horse ! Indeed, Miss Bab. Let me tell you, Miss — 



QEjiter Edwin.) 

Edwin. I hope I don't interrupt you. 

Felix. No ; we were only — only — 

Miss Bahherly. Not at all, Sir ; we were only — (^Miss Bah- 
herly makes him a scornful^ awkward^ half -courtesy., half-how.) 

Edwin. I am come to tell you, Felix, that we have given up 
all intention of acting my play to-night. 

Felix. Really! {Aside.) Then I can't quiz him; how 
provoking ! 

Miss Bahherly. Then I suppose we can have Dame Debo- 
rah's benches ? 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 251 

Edivin. Not to-night. Miss Babberly will not ask for them, 
I am sure, because the children and the people of the village 
will want them ; for, instead of tlie play, they are to have a 
little dance. 

Miss Bahherly. Dance ! And where will you get beans ? 

Edwin. We shall not want beaus, for we shall have no 
belles. Felix told me that all your family have company at 
home. 

Felix. But, pray, hoAv could you give up your play ? 

Edivin. Very easily; I would give up anything to avoid 
disputes. 

Felix. Disputes ! Why, I thought you had everything your 
own way in this place. I thought you were Lord Paramount ^ 
here. 

Miss Babberly. Yes ; I thought you had partisans enough 
here, Sir. 

Edwin. Far from Avishing to have partisans, or to be the 
cause of quarrel, I am ready to give up my own schemes, 
you see. We are all very happy in this village, and do let 
us continue to be so ; let us all be good friends. 

Felix. To be sure — certainly — I have no objection. But 
I really do not see exactly what you would be at. Disputes ! 
Quarrels ! What do you mean ? 

Edwin. What do I mean, Felix ? You cannot have for- 
gotten poor little Willy and his dog. 

Felix (embarrassed). As to that, I remember the little scoun- 
drel was impertinent to me, and I gave him and his dog a duck- 
ing ; that's all. 

Edwin. And nearly broke the dog's leg. Was Willy imper- 
tinent ? I did not understand that. 

Felix. Well, no matter how it was ; if he put me in a pas- 
sion, he must take the consequences. Mr. Edwin, you always 
take the part of every vulgar fellow against me ; and, let me 
tell you. Sir, I do not think this very genteel conduct. 

1 Lord Paramount, the chief, or person having the greatest power or influence. 



252 MARIA EDGE WORTH 

Miss Bahherly. And I assure you, Sir, if you expect me to 
be at your dance this evening, I have the pleasure to assure 
you that you will be disappointed. 

(^Exit Miss Bahherly^ tossing her head.) 

Felix. That's right, Sister ; there's a girl of spirit ! 

Edwin. I shall never think you a boy of spirit, after what 
I have now heard and seen. (^Exit Edwin.) 

Felix (jgoing out at the opposite door). I'll make you repent 
of this before the sun goes down. QExit.) 

Scene II. — Philip and Cherry at their own house., with a large 
basket of strawberries and a bowl of cream. 

Cherry. After joy comes sorrow ; after sorrow comes joy. 
Though we did pull down our garlands, and though we did 
give up Edwin's play, we shall be very happy to-night ; and 
we shall make all the children at the Dame's so happy with 
these strawberries and cream ! Wasn't Mamma very good to 
let us gather so many, and to give us such a great quantity of 
nice cream ? 

Philip. Yes ; but I am thinking how we can carry it with- 
out spilling it, as far as the Dame School. 

Cherry. As the milkmaids do. Put it on my head, and you 
shall see how well I can carry it. 

Philip. No, no, I will carry it ; for I am better able than 
you, and stronger, and wiser. (^He tries to carry the bowl on his 
head.) 

Cherry. My Dear ! My Dear ! It is spilling, in spite of all 
your strength and wisdom ; besides, boys are never milk- 
maids. 

Philip. But you know it is the part of a woman not to dis- 
pute about trifles with a man. 

Cherry. Well, I will not dispute ; now give it me — 
{Meekly^ and putting her hands before her.) Pray! 

Philip. So I will, because you are so gentle and good- 
humored ; besides, I know it is the part of a man to give up 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 253 

to a woman if she does not dispute — (^Places the bowl on 
her head.} Only don't tumble down, that's all I ask of you. 
Cherry, Tumble, my Dear ! Look how steadily I carry it. 

(^Exeunt. ) 

Scene III. — Mr. Bahherly^s house. Miss Bahherly and 

Felix. 

Miss Bahherly. Do you know, I've been explaining to Papa 
all about the behavior of Dame Deborah, and her rudeness 
about the benches, and telling him what a party there is made 
against us here in the village ; and he says he can punish that 
old beldam, and have her benches in spite of her, and this very 
night, too. 

Felix. This night, can he? I'm glad of that, for it will 
humble Edwin's pride. She and all those stupid children are 
his partisans, and under his protection, I see ; and he is always 
doing things to make himself popular. You see that, though 
the play is given up, he will give them a dance to-night. The 
peddler, who cut his leg, and who stays at their house, can play 
on the fiddle, and he will be their music. And I saw the 
children carrying such baskets of strawberries and bowls of 
cream. They are determined to keep their father's birthday, 
it seems, to provoke us ; but maybe we shall be too many for 
them, yet. 

Miss Bahherly. My father will manage that for you. 

Felix. Manage that ! How ? How ? Oh, tell me how ! 

Miss Bahherly. I will tell you how he will manage it. Dame 
Deborah is his tenant. She forgets that ; and she forgets that 
she hasn't paid her rent, nor can't, he says, for her cow has 
just died — and so he'll send Bateman, the bailiff, down to seize 
all she has, this very evening, and the benches first and fore- 
most. 

Felix. Joe, triumph ! Joe, triumph ! 

Miss Bahherly. Come, you'll hear him giving orders this 
minute . (^Exeunt. ) 



254 MARIA EDGE WORTH 



Scene IV. — A meadow near Dame DehoraKs cottage; Dame 
Deborah setting out a table with a large boiul of cream^ and 
children with baskets of strawberries ; Cherry and Philip dis- 
tributing the strawberries ; Edwin setting the benches to the table ; 
the peddler tuning his fiddle. 

Philip. Now everybody has strawberries. 

Cherry. And let everybody pick for himself. (^The children 
begin eating.) 

Edivin. But Philip, you have forgot your poor fiddler, here ; 
isn't he to have any ? 

Philip. He shall have half of mine. 

Cherry. And half of mine. ( They give him a plate of straw- 
berries.) 

Philip. I will put your fiddle out of your way, for it will 
be an hour before we are ready for it. Picking strawberries 
is a serious affair. 

Edwin. But then, consider that Dame Deborah came out 
on purpose to see you all dance ; and if you are so long before 
you begin, the sun will set, and it will be too late for her to 
stay out. 

Dame. Never mind me, Dears — please yourselves, and never 
mind me. 

Rose. Oh, yes, but we will mind you. We can't please 
ourselves without minding you. Let us dance before we eat 
our strawberries, that we may not keep our Dame out in the 
night dew. 

All. Yes, yes, yes. (They push away their strawberries., and 
all rise and get ready to dance.) 

Peddler. What tune shall I play. Master? (To Edwin.) 

Edwin. '•^ Rural Felicity. ^^ 

(He plays " Rural Felicity^'' and the children dance. While 
they are dancing., enter Felix with the bailiff. Miss Bab- 
berly follows.) 

Dame. What comes here? What is all this? 



THE DAME SCHOOL HOLIDAY 255 

Miss Bahberly. All this is what you've brought on yourself, 
old Avoman, by your stubbornness. 

Felix. Bateman, do your duty. There are the benches. 

Miss Bahherly. Ay ; if you had lent them to us by fair 
means, it Avould have been better for you. 

Bateman (^pusJmig hy Edwin). By your leave, sir ! By your 
leave. Dame I (^Takes hold of the end of the bench on which Dame 
Deborah is sitting.) My orders be to seize all this household 
furniture here, for rent and arrears, due to J. Babberly, Esq. 

Dame. What, all my little goods ! All — and all on such a 
night as this ! 

(^She clasps her hands in an agony; the children gather 
round her in consternation.) 

Philip (to Felix). You cruel creature-! 

Cherry. Poor Dame Deborah ] Poor, good Dame Deborah ! 

Mose. Oh, what can we do for her? 

Nancy. Oh, is there nothing we can do for her? 

Mary. I never saw her cry before. (Dame wipes her eyes.) 

Dame. God's Avill be done ! God's will be done ! He has 
left me these — (She stoops and kisses the children.) Don't 
cry, Dears — don't you cry, or I can't help it. Well, sir (to 
the bailiff)^ as Mr. Felix says, do your duty. 

Fdwin (springing forward) . Stop, stop ! How much is the 
debt? 

Bateman. Seven guineas. 

Fdwin. I have only four ; but here is my watch ; it is worth — 

Felix (interrupting). No matter what it is worth, it won't 
do ; the rent is to be paid in money. I heard my father read 
the lease ; and ready money is the words mentioned in the lease. 
Bateman, carry off the benches. 

Peddler (coming forward). Master Edwin, if you want 
ready money, if you be pleased, I can let you have it. 

( Grives guineas. ) 

Fdwin. Thank you, my good friend ; take my watch. 

Peddler. No, Master, no ; I'll not take the watch. I'll take 
your word — that's enough. 



256 MARIA EDGE WORTH 

Edwin. Mr. Felix Babberly, here is the whole of what is 
clue to you, or to your father, in ready money. Now, let go 
this bench, if you please. 

Felix. Very well, sir ; vastly well, Sir. I will be revenged 
some time or other, you'll see. 

Miss Bahherly. Yes, yes, you have not done with us yet, I 
promise you. But go on with your vulgar diversions, and wel- 
come ; and be assured we don't want to be of the party. It is 
not such dancing as this, and such parties as these, we have 
been used to in Lon'on, I can tell you ; and I will make Papa 
live in Lon'on. Come away, Brother Felix. 

{Exit Miss Bahherly.) 

Felix (aside). So they will have their dance, and be happy, 
in spite of us I How provoking ! (Exit Felix.) 

Cherry. How excessively ugly he looked ! 

Philip. Yes ; people always look ugly when they are in a 
passion. 

Dame. Handsome is that handsome does (turning to Ed- 
win). Mr. Edwin, how shall I thank you? But your own 
good heart thanks you enough. 

Willy. Yes, that it does, I'll answer for it. See how happy 
he looks ! 

Edwin. What a pity that Felix cannot be so happy — 

Dame. As good, you mean? 

Philip. Oh, let us think no more of Felix. It is very 
disagreeable to think of bad people. 

Cherry. Especially on Papa's birthday; so let us go on 
dancing. 

(Cherry and the rest of the children join hands, and she 
sings as they dance.) 

" Come, follow, follow me, 
Ye fairy elves that be ; 
Light tripping o'er the green. 
Come, follow Mab your queen," etc. 

(Exeunt.) 



SCKIBE 
WILLIS 



SCH. IN COM. 17 



EUGENE SCRIBE 

The theater-going public refuses to be entertained as formerly. For a 
generation there has been an ever-increasing demand for light comedy. 
The popular taste demands not only constant movement and bright play 
of words, but also light music and comic ballads interspersed. 

The " most popular playwright of France " was a writer of vaudevilles. 
He was a man who " never pleased and never can please any critic who 
applies purely literary tests." Yet he seemed to know by an unerring 
instinct how to please his loved Parisians, and he served them faithfully, 
humoring every whim and caprice. He was the dramatic star of France in 
the reign of the Citizen King and of N'apoleon III. ; and he leaves no suc- 
cessor to the place which he held in popular favor. 

Eugene Scribe (uh-zhane' screeb) was born at Paris in 1791. He passed 
his life in his native city, and died in 1861. His father was a silk merchant 
of ample fortune, who marked out for the son a career in the legal profes- 
sion. Young Scribe did not fancy the law. He began, at the age of twenty, 
to write for the stage. His earlier productions were anonymous, and it is 
not known to a certainty what was his first complete play. At twenty-five 
he became famous ; and thereafter, for forty-five years, he wrote incessantly. 
To a single theater he supplied more than a hundred dramas. 

His industry was equaled only by his sense of honor and his generosity. 
Always ready to assist other writers, he wrote much in company with less- 
favored dramatists, and seemed never to fear that he might endanger his 
own interests by building up rivals. 

The liberality of Moliere was again exhibited in the person of Scribe, 
who, in fact, seems to have surpassed in this respect all other writers for the 
stage. On more than one occasion he acknowledged the moral "copyright 
of ideas," and gave compensation to others from whom he had indirectly 
received some suggestion — they being unconscious of his appropriation 
of any thought of theirs until assured of the fact by the high-minded 
playwright. 

For many years after his death, no one pretended to publish a complete 
collection of his plays, though there is now issued in Paris a library of fifty 
volumes made up of Scribe's dramas and claiming to include them all. 

His best dramatic productions are La Chaine (the chain), Le Verre d'Eau 
(the glass of water), and Adrienne Lecouvreur ; the first two of which 
appeared in 1842, and the last in 1849. 

259 



260 



EUGENE SCRIBE 



Scribe's librettos of operas were peculiarly happy in their execution, and 
will be long in use. His writings of a general literary character are already 
forgotten. 

The Two Preceptors ; or, As'inus As'inum Fric'at (donkey rubs donkey) 
was written in 1817, when the author was twenty-six years of age. One 
Moreau is believed to have been associated with him in its preparation. 
The French are said to enjoy their own foibles portrayed in comedy. Xo 
class of Parisians more thoroughly enjoyed Moliere's Le Bourgeois than the 
Bourgeois themselves. Probably the French charlatans in education have 
relished Scribe's delineation of pretenders of their own class. 

Scribe is differently viewed by different critics. Louis Pujol says of him : 
" M. Scribe is to strangers the representative Parisian, and will remain to 
posterity one of the best painters of the manners of our era." An eminent 
English writer, who admits Scribe's marvelous mastery of the mechanism 
of the stage and of the tastes of his audience, says : " Nevertheless, he hardly 
deserves a place in literature. His style is vulgar, his characters common- 
place ; even his plots lacking power and grasp." 

Alcee Fortier, a distinguished American critic, in a recent work pro- 
nounces Scribe as "fruitful" as Dumas; and while he fails to see in the 
popular dramatist always a true student of manners, yet he predicts that 
the dramas of Scribe will be played for a long time to come. 



THE TWO PKECEPTORS; OE, ASmUS ASINUM EEICAT 
Dramatis Persons ^ 



M. RoBERViLLE, the wealthy pro- 
prietor of a chateau at La Brie. 

Charles, his son. 

]\I. CiNGLANT,2 a schoolmaster. 

Ledru, alias Jasmin, alias M. St. 
Ange, an impostor. 



Axtoine, a servant. 

Jeannette, a garden maid, niece of 

M. Cin giant. 
ISlise, a cousin of Charles. 
Peasants. 



1 Some of these names may be Anghcized. The French pronunciation is 
nearly as follows: Monsieur, or M. (moce-yur'); Charles (sharl); Roberville 
(ro-bair-veel'); Cinglant (san-glon'); St. Ange (sant onge'); Jasmin (zhas- 
man'); Ledru'; Antoine (an-twon'); Jeannette (zhon-net'); ifelise (a-leez'). 

2 The name signifies a beater. 



THE TWO PRECEPTORS 261 

Scene I. — A garden^ with a pavilion ; to the right a hedge 
and a little wall^ with a gate. 

(Jeannette alone and at work. JSlise advances on tiptoe along the 

hedge.') 

JSlise. Jeannette, is Uncle there ? 

Jeannette. What, is it you, so soon again ? Why, you've 
scarcely been in your room ten minutes. 

Elise. Ten minutes !■ Why, I've been practicing on the 
piano an hour, at least. Listen. A person does need some 
rest. No one can work forever. 

Jeannette (^quitting her work). But it's funny, nevertheless. 

:Elise. What's that ? It's funny ? 

Jeannette. Yes. Since Monsieur Charles, your cousin, has 
come back from Paris, where he went to finish his education, 
one wouldn't know the chateau. Even your uncle, who always 
used to be absorbed in his accounts, does nothing but watch 
after his son, to prevent his seeing you. All day long he's 
shutting the door and going by the window. QSings.) 

I know very well he is busy, 

His problems are sadly behind. 
If a prisoner you're seeking to make him, 

He'll surely escape, you will find. 
It is vain that you wall up the window, 

Put gratings on every door, 
For Love is a trickster, who'll surely 

Find means to come in, as before. 

Scene II. — The same. 
(^Charles appears on the top of the wall, at the right.) 

Charles. Elise, Elise ! It is I. 

Jeannette (^perceiving him) . What shall I say ? Ah, well ! 
His lessons are learned forward and backward. 

Charles. Listen here, Jeannette. Why does my father wish 
to make a scholar of me ? 



2l6'2 EUGENE SCRIBE 

Ellse. Charles has studied long enough, of course. 
Charles. IVe been at it six years. What more could a 
person ask? (^jSings.') 

O, I know that Elise is a darling, 

That her heart is revealed in her eyes ; 
I know that her innocent mischief 

Conceals all the gifts that I prize. 
I know she's as good as she's charming ; 

My cousin loves me, and, I own, 

I love her, I love her alone. 
I know she's as good as she's charming ; 

And I love her, I love her alone. 

Ulise (sings refrairi). 

My cousin knows that to perfection — 
The lesson is perfectly known. 

Jeannette. That's just what I hear everybody say. Even 
my uncle, the schoolmaster, said to your father the other day, 
with his gesture — which you know very well (striking the hack 
of her left hand with the palm of her right) — " I'm afraid he's 
growing too wise." 

Charles. Do you hear that ? I'm getting to be too smart. 
So good-by to books. I'll have to amuse myself — that's the 
only thing to do. Besides, a fellow can't work when he's in 
love. 

Elise. How different it is when he's married ! 

Charles. Then they can study together. 

Elise. They can then encourage each other. 

Charles. You don't understand it, Jeannette. Ah, if you 
had ever been in love ! 

Jeannette. O, go along. I've passed through all that. 

Charles. What ! 

Jeannette. Pshaw ! Do I work more than you ? Why, it's 
three weeks I've been working on this apron, and see how far 
along it is. And that's all there is of it since that trip I made 
with 3^our aunt. (Sings.) 



THE TWO PBECEPTOBS 263 

Ah, the country boys are green ; 

At the girls they all take fright. 
Paris boys are different, 
All so gallant and polite. 
Don't you see ? 
For a lady, look at me 1 
Don't you doubt. 
Travel brings a person out. 

But the country greenies all. 

If they love, their love will stay. 
Paris boys are different, 
And they love another way. 
Don't you see ? 

Ah, how f aithlees they can be ! 
Don't you doubt, 
Travel brings a person out. 

Elise. Well, you've not told us about it. Was he young? 
Was he a dear? 

Jeannette. Ah, Lady, he wasn't like us peasants. He had a 
gold-embroidered coat. 

Charles. A gold-embroidered coat ! 

Jeannette. And a hat to match. 

Charles. Ah, I understand. He was a valet de chamhre} or 
something like that. 

Jeannette. Yes, but he ought to make his fortune. He said 
that his master, who had chambers in la rue ^ Helder, had com- 
menced like himself, and that he wouldn't think anj^thing 
impossible. 

Charles. Ah, well ! 

Jeannette. When Uncle came to Paris, to get his license 
as principal of the primary school, he brought me away with 
liim, and I hadn't even a chance to say good-by to any one. 
(^Resumes her work.} And for six months I've done nothing 
but sigh. 

1 An attendant, or footman. ^ The street. 



264 EUGENE SCRIBE 

Charles. Poor little Jeannette ! I promise you to make 
inquiries ; and after we're married, you'll find — but I must 
give you an idea I have. (^Speaking low.) There is some 
mischief brewing against us, here. 

Jeannette. Heavens ! 

Charles. For some time my father has had long talks with 
the schoolmaster. 

JElise. Yes, they seem at least to have an eye on us. 

Jeannette. It's a shame. 

Elise. Perhaps they suspect something about the little 
party we're to give to-night. 

Jeannette. No, Monsieur's going to dine in the city to-day, 
for he has called for his horses at four o'clock. There's some 
other mischief. 

Charles. Well, let's form an offensive and defensive alli- 
ance, and we three shall see if we're not as sharp as 
they are. (^Sings.) 

Here we're safe, ourselves alone •— 

Youth and love they'll ne'er subdue ; 
For success will ever come 

To the heart that's brave and true. 

Jeannette (sings). 

Ah, but I will lie in wait — 
> Watch their plans to interfere; 

And their schemes I'll ferret out, 
K a single word I hear. 



All (sing). 



Here we're safe, ourselves alone — 

Youth and love they'll ne'er subdue ; 
For success wiU surely come 

To the heart that's brave and true. 

Charles. Above all, whatever comes, let's have no fear, and 
let's stand lirm — Heavens ! Here comes Father. 

(Elise and Jeannette make their escape.) 



THE TWO PEECEPTOnS 265 

Scene III. — The same. 

(^M. Roherville enters and seizes Charles hy the arm^ 

M. Roherville. Hold on. Sir ; hold on. So this is the way 
you run off from study ! Do you think that's the way I made 
my fortune, and became one of the leading proprietors of La 
Brie? {Sings.') 

To hve in the seventh story, you know, 

Not once in a month outdoors to go, 

To read — read — read, and to pray — pray — pray, — 

Was the life of a boy in my elder day. 

To take their taste from the cock of the walk. 

To be pedantical in their talk. 

To do the opera and the play — 

Is the life of the youth of the present day. 

Charles {sings). 

I admire, with you, the sober way 

Of the boys and girls of that elder day ; 

But times are changed, and I dare to rhyme 

A plea for the rights of the present time. 

Nursed in our childhood on Victory's breast. 

We will shed our blood at our land's behest. 

Art and science and glory sway 

The hearts of the youth of the present day. 

M. Roherville. I tell you in advance, Sir, that I am not to 
be cajoled by your fine words. I have taken my position, 
and you know my determination. 

Charles. AYell, Father, — why not at once ? 

M. Roherville. Oh, you may be certain it won't be long ; 
and I hope that this very day — But until then, you are at 
liberty. 

Charles {aside). Didn't I say that he was plotting some- 
thing ? Now, to find my cousin and set Jeannette against 
them ! {Exit.) 



266 EUGENE SCRIBE 

Scene IV. — An apartment in the chateau, 
(^M. Roherville and M. Cinglant enter.^ 

M. Cinglant. I wonder if I can find that little girl ! ( To 
M. Roherville.^ Beg pardon; I am looking for my niece, 
Jeanne tte. 

M. Roherville. O, it's you, M. Cinglant ! Is your school 
closed already ? 

M. Cinglant. Yes. (^Makes his accustomed gesture.^} 1 
hurried it through promptly. And as to our matter, how is 
it arranged ? 

M. Roherville. O, indeed, I have decided to follow your 
advice. 

M. Cinglant. That's not all. Rigorous discipline — rigor- 
ous discipline ! From the very beginning of my primary 
school I have known no other system of education. . Such as 
you see me, I have been for fifteen years — a corrector of the 
Mazarin ^ style — and I dare say that any one will readily rec- 
ognize those who have passed under my hands. (^Sings.) 

O, bruised is my arm become — come — come, 

From beating the boys like a drum — drum — drum ! 

There's young La Harpe, what he owes to my care ! 

And young Chamfort (shon-for'), with his training rare ! 

Still in my heart the memory lingers, 

How I have whipped their tingling fingers. 

All my work is their later success ; 

I^ow, alas, for I must confess. 

Gone, ah, gone are those halcyon days, 

Gone, ah, gone are those halcyon days ! 

Isn't it ridiculous, I say — say — say — 

AU the old decorum laid away — way — way ? 

1 Scribe makes a special point of this gesture. The schoolmaster is not only 
brutal and shallow, but is affected with a disgusting mannerism, 

2 Mazarin (maz-a-ran') was Prime Minister of France in the reign of Louis 
XIV. , and was noted for the rigor of his measures. 



THE TWO PRECEPTORS 267 

Nobody now gets the birch — birch — birch ; 

I, with my rules, am in the lurch — lurch — lurch. 

But let me calm my anger, there's a light — light — light; 

All is not lost — I've a chance in sight. 

Here's a young gentleman, my pupil he's to be, 

And all the old-time punishments again we'll see. 

Back again, back again come the halcyon days, 

Back again, back again come the halcyon days! 

But, alas ! Your son is now too large to be kept down. 

M. Boherville. So I see. 

M. Cinglant. He must have, as I told you, a good and very- 
rigid governor,^ who will watch him constantly — who will 
even have to live at your chateau for that purpose, — 

M. Roherville. Of course. 

M. Oinglant. Who will dine always at your table — 

M. Roherville. That's just what I was about to say. I'll 
give, besides, a thousand crowns, and I couldn't do less for a 
man of merit, a professor of the Athenaeum. 

M. Cinglant (overwhelmed). How is that? It isn't — 

M. Roherville. He will arrive this very day, from Paris. 
You see, I haven't lost any time since you gave me the idea, 
for I owe as much to you. Moreover, I shall never forget it ; 
and your niece can always count on me. Good-by, my dear 
Cinglant. 

M. Cinglant. Sir — certainly — My earnestness — 

Scene V. — Another apartment. 
(M. Cinglant and Jeannette enter.) 

M. Cinglant. Zounds ! I am choking with anger ! 

Jeannette (running up) . O Uncle, Uncle ! What has Mon- 
sieur Roherville said to you ? 

M. Cinglant. He has said — He has said — How mad I 
am ! Besides, every one at the school will resent it. Isn't it 

1 In the educational system of Rousseau (roo-so'), the tutor is called a 
"governor," 



268 EUGENE SCEIBE 

abominable ! Board and lodgings and a thousand crowns ! 
When, good and bad years together, my primary school doesn't 
bring in three hundred livres*! Well, they'll find out — 

Jeannette. But, Uncle — 

M. Cinglant. Hold your tongue . It's lucky for you that 
there's no school for girls in this village.^ 

Jeannette. But I want to know what's the matter with you. 

M. Cinglant (sings). 

He'll be sorry for it soon, 

Yery soon. 
It's a horror and a shame, 

All the same. 
They shall see if I'm a dunce. 

Just for once. 

Jeannette. What has he done, I want to know? 
M. Cinglant (sings). 

What is it he has done ? 

Well, he's gone 
And imported to the town — 

Just a clown. 
Some pedantic good-for-naught 

He has caught, 
Just as I weren't near, 

Do you hear ? 
What's the need to send away 

For a jay? 

Jeannette. True ; that's very -unjust. 

M. Cinglant. But we shall see about this governor ! Be- 
sides, M. Charles won't endure him, and he'll aid me to put 
him out. We'll all be against him — won't we, Jeannette? 

Jeannette (aside). Here's a conspiracy! 

M. Cinglant. Let me know when this young phenomenon 
arrives. 

Jeannette. Rest easy as to that. 

1 Evidently the schoolmaster regards the school as a place of punishment, and 
really considers his niece lucky. 



THE TWO PBECEPTORS 269 

Scene VI. — The hall of the chateau. 

(Jeannette alone.) 

Jeannette. Let's see, now, who's to be expected. A philo- 
niene ! Ah, well, M. Charles had good reason to fear some 
misfortune. But what's that I hear? 

Scene VII. — The same. 
(Jeannette. Ledru entering.) 

Ledru (speaking off^ to porter'). No, I thank you, I have no 
trunk or valise. I don't like to be burdened, while traveling. 
Isn't there any one here to announce me? 

Jeannette. Who is this gentleman? 

Ledru (seemingly preoccupied., and not looking at Jeannette). 
Will you be kind enough. Miss, to announce to your master 
that a distinguished scholar whom he is expecting to-day — 

Jeannette (looking at him attentively) . O Heavens I It is he ! 

Ledru. It is^ really, he. There is no doubt of that, since I 
tell you so. Announce the governor of his son. 

Jeannette (perplexed and continuing to look at him). The 
governor ! O well, but — pardon me, Sir — (Aside.) It's just 
as I thought ! (Aloud.) I thought — I'll go and tell him you 
are here. (Aside.) There are some coincidences — and some 
resemblances — Heavens, but it's surprising! (Exit Jeannette.) 

Scene VIII. — The same. 

(Ledru alone.) 

Ledru. What's the matter with this girl? I haven't 
stared at her ! But she seems surprised to see a man like me. 
(Soliloquizing.) Come, Ledru, now for your cheek! I have 
done everything in my life, and I shall do the savant well. 
Besides, I have the ideas to begin with. I may say that I 



270 EUGENE SCRIBE 

know something of ante-chamber literature, though it be only 
the novels I read about the stove when I was a lackey. And 
then, wasn't I for several months in the service of a professor in 
the Athenseum, and a journalist? That prepares for the pro- 
fession. Now, not to lose any time, and to sum it up — (^Takes 
a note-book and some papers from his coat pocket.) My master 
had accepted from M. Roberville the position of tutor of his 
children, some little tots that any one could manage at his 
pleasure. Board and lodgings and a thousand crowns for 
salary — we won't forget that at all ! My master falls sick, 
and writes a second letter, withdrawing from the engagement. 
I was the one to mail the letter. Instead of that, I put it into 
my pocket. I call for my time, and here I come, in the capac- 
ity of a tutor. It seems to me already that it is a pretty dar- 
ing plan. But, on the whole, I am sure that I will not do 
worse at it than many others. To begin with, I have a fine 
chest ; and in discoursing, to speak loudly and long is all that 
is necessary. But some one is coming ! Doubtless it is the 
father. I must be firm, and play close. 

Scene IX. — A parlor in the chateau. 
{Ledru. M. Roberville^ entering.) 

M. Roberville. O, is it my dear M. St. Ange? How 
happy I am to have in my household so illustrious a man 
as you I 

Ledru. Monsieur — 

31. Roberville. I am very fond of savants.^ though I am 
scarcely one myself. 

Led7'u. Monsieur, it is allowable for you to say that. 

M. Roberville. No, I know myself. {Sings.) 

At the bank I feel at home ; 

There I am " on deck." 
As to education, — well, 

I can draw a check. 



THE TWO PRECEPTORS 271 



Ledru (^sings). 



Were I only in your place ! 

Talents are well enough — 
But let me choose, and I'll prefer 

Only to have " the stuff." 

Had I but money, then I'd proceed 
To buy all the talent and learning I'd need. 

That would be easy enough. 

M. Roherville. Monsieur, I am sure of what you will give us 
for our money, and that, thanks to you, my son will become — 

Ledru. You may be certain that I will wait on him — 
What am I saying? (^cLside) — that I will iyistruct him — in my 
way — that is, I will teach him all 1 know — that won't 
take long (^aside) — but I am impatient to see the little 
fellow. 

M. Roherville. But he is not so young ! I haven't told you 
that he is sixteen or seventeen years old. 

Ledru. O, the deuce! (Aszc?e.) I would rather have had 
him at the start. He will be almost obliged to forget what he 
has learned, to put us on a footing together, so that we can 
understand each other. 

M. Roherville. I wrote to you that he was a young nursling 
of the Muses. 

Ledru. I understand, but I was thinking of a nursling of 
three or four years. 

M. Roherville. What ! why, he understands Latin. 

Ledru. O, he understands Latin ! But then I needn't talk 
to him about that, for it's so much less for me to do. 

M. Roherville. And mathematics — 

Ledru. Mathematics ! Then be kind enough to indicate 
what you desire me to teach him. 

M. Roherville. I mean for you to perfect his education. 

Ledru. O, yes. That's what we call the last touch of the 
napkin. 

M. Roherville. No, it isn't that which I wish you to teach ; 
I mean his character. 



272 EUGENE SCRIBE 

Ledru. That's it — so that he will be polite to his servants, 
and not swear at them. 

M. Roherville. O, that's very well, doubtless ; but that's not 
the essential thing. 

Ledru. Beg pardon, beg pardon — but we ourselves always 
judge others by that. 

M. Rohervillt. Very well, but please note that my son is in 
love — not but that I intend to have them marry after a while 
— but you understand that before that time — 

Ledru. Well — I understand; and his manners? 

M. Roherville. Surprising ! Note, now, the sort of tutor 
that is necessary. We have, here, the principal of the primary 
school, M. Cinglant, to whom I wish to present you. He's the 
very man for Latin, and you are to discuss it with him. That 
will be delightful. 

Ledru (^aside). But — I could do well without this presen- 
tation. (^Aloud.) But the — the fatigue of my journey ! I 
should not object to taking a little rest. 

M. Roherville. Why didn't you mention it? They will 
show you where — (^He touches a hell. At the sound., Ledru 
turns around suddenly.) 

Ledru. Coming, sir ! 

M. Roherville (^astonished). What I 

Ledru. I was going to say that some one is coming — for 
here is some one now. 

M. Roherville (to Jeannette^ who enters'). Show M. St. Ange 
the apartment on the second floor. (To Ledru.) I'm going 
to announce your arrival to my son. (Aside.) I'm charmed 
with our preceptor. 

Scene X. — The same. 

Jeannette (holding some keys in her hand^ and looking at 
Ledru). M. St. Ange — I don't recover myself! (Aside.) 

Ledru (aside). The schoolmaster worries me a little, but 
the father isn't of much force ; and since no one knows me 
here — 



THE TWO PRECEPTORS 273 

Jeannette. O, I can't hold any longer ; and at the risk — 
(^She turns away a little^ and speaks in a loud voice.} Jasmin ! 

Ledru (^starting violently}. Who calls? (^Recollecting him- 
self.} Well, where is my head to-day? {^Aside.} 

Jeannette (^aside}. It is he ; I was sure of it. 

Ledru (aside — looking at Jeannette}. Ah, it's that girl who, 
six months ago — at Paris — Ah, how awkward I am ! {Aloud. } 
Well, what is it, child? Do you want to show me my room? 

Jeannette. How is it. Monsieur Jasmin, that you don't wish 
to recognize me? When you were a lackey on la rue Helder — 

Ledru (^aside}. O Heavens ! She's going to compromise 
me. 

Jeannette. You said truly you were going to make your 
fortune, but you ought to share it with me. O, O, O ! 

(^Weeps.} 

Ledru (^aside}. Well, if she's going to cry like that, there's 
use in this artifice. (^Aloud.} Jeannette, you are mistaken. 
I am not the one you think I am. You confound me with some 
evil person. 

Jeannette. Ah, it's you sure enough. I recognize you very 
well. I'm not like you. (^Sings.} 

Can ambition, then, so blind you, 

Monsieur Jasmin ! 
You take up the education 
Of a youth of highest station. 

When my tutor I should find you. 
Ah, the lesson you have taught me 

Has not faded from my heart. 
From the page to which you brought me, 

Now, united, let us start, 

Monsieur Jasmin ! 

But since then you have become a governor, and you don't 
want me to be a governor's wife. 

Ledru (^aside}. Who could stand that? Women always 
get me into trouble. They prevent my going ahead. Ever 
since I pushed myself into the parlors, I have been running 
across antechamber acquaintances. 

8CH. IN COM. — 18 



274 EUGENE SCRIBE 

Jeannette, Go away. Everybody shall know about your 
perfidy. 

Ledru (aside). O Heavens! If anybody should come. 
(Aloud.) Jeannette, you make me pay dearly for the indis- 
cretions of a reckless youth. But have a care for your interests 
— for mine — because you realize that, the governor not being 
Jasmin — and, on the other hand — but, believe me, my heart — 
(Jeannette cries incessantly.) Ah, well ! behold me! See me! 
I am on my knees to you ! 

Jeannette. Well, you're early ! There, now you seem your- 
self. You haven't forgotten me, then ? 

Scene XI. — The same. 

(M. Moberville^ entering^ finds Ledru on his knees before 
Jeaimette.) 

M. Roherville. What do I see ! (Jeannette screams and 
escapes., letting fall her hunch of keys.) 

Ledru (aside) . Great Heavens! It's the papa! (Aloud.) 
I am certain that you would think I had been on my knees. 
You'd believe — 

M. Roherville. Zounds ! Why, you are now ! 

Ledru. Well, it does look that way. But it's only a piece 
of gallantry. I was about to pick up those keys — awkwardly, 
it's true — But what's the difference ? 

M. Roherville. Ah, you're courtly, Professor. 

Ledru. Well, what if I am? 

M. Roherville. But what of that austerity of manner of 
which you spoke to me ? 

Ledru. Gallantry does not exclude good manners. (Aside.) 
I must give him a romantic touch, or I'll never get out of this. 
(Sings.) 

All the aid of all the Graces 

Cannot harm the pupil's taste. 
Though you prune a garden treasure, 
It shall guard the sap from waste. 



THE TWO PRECEPTORS 275 

It is pleasure's choicest flower, 

That the Graces cause to bloom. 
Gentle zephyrs kiss and wave it, 

Nature gives it ample room. 

M. Roherville (hecoming convinced'). Well — 

Ledru. And there are many other considerations Avhich I 
might lead you to appreciate, but perhaps no one here would 
comprehend them. 

M. Roherville. Truly, I haven't your ability. 

Ledru. That's all right. You're not expected to have a 
mind like mine, since it is you who are the employer. That's 
the general rule. 

M, Roherville. That's right. 

Ledru. Otherwise it would be I who should have to give 
you the thousand crowns. 

M. Roherville. I have come to announce to you the arrival 
of M. Cinglant, the principal of the primary school, of whom 
1 have spoken to you. But here he is. 



Scene XIL — The same. 
(^M. Cinglant and Charles enter.) 

M. Roherville. Here is M. Cinglant, of whom I have spoken 
to you. Let me have the honor to introduce you. 

Ledru (howing). Delighted to make your acquaintance, 
Sir! 

Cinglant (bowing). Certainly, Sir. There's nothing in that. 
(^Aside.) Confound the Professor — If I were only able to 
make you pack off ! 

M. Roherville. I introduce to you at the same time my son, 
your new pupil. 

Ledru. Ah, this is he? 

Charles (aside). He has an odd look ! 

Ledru (to Charles) . Young man, you will have to deal with 
one who knows the masters. 



276 EUGENE SCBIBE 

Cinglant. I presume that you, Sir, are an advocate of the 
new methods.^ 

Ledru. Well, yes — as for me, I like them well enough ; 
and you? 

Cinglant, As for me, Sir, so far as methods go, mine are 
known (mahes the gesture previously described hy Jeannette^ 
p. 262), and I have no others. But I shall be interested to 
learn your opinion on the question which at this moment 
is dividing the learned. Are you for or against the system 
of Jean Jacques ? ^ 

Ledru. O, the deuce ! (^Aside.) It seems necessary for 
me to commit myself. (^Aloud.') Sir, I am for him — and, 
after all, why should I not be ? 

Cinglant. I ought not to have doubted it. It is a character- 
istic only of young teachers to defend a doctrine so pernicious 
and detrimental. 

Ledru. Pernicious ! I do not so regard it. Pernicious r 
We must distinguish — 

Cinglant. How, Sir? 

Charles (aside~). Here's a discussion which may turn out 
curiously. 

Ledru (aside~). The deuce ! (^Aloud.^ Listen. We are 
not here to dispute. Pernicious — I wish very much — I agree 
with you ; but detrimental ! Not at all. We differ on this 
trifle.^ It is very proper. Only read the chapter of — of his 
book of — where he proves that — and you will see after that 
what "remains to be said. 

Charles. In fact, he has nothing to say in reply to that. 

Cinglant. Nothing to say — 

Ledru. Don't you remember the chapter of which I have 
spoken? Come, I see that you have not read it. 

1 The methods of instruction and of discipline suggested by Rousseau, ^yhich 
were attracting wide attention at the time when this play was written (1817). 

=2 Rousseau. 

3 Ledru's attempt to effect a compromise on the distinction between perni- 
cious and detrimental is not more absurd than the subtleties of many other 
disputants who talk for effect. 



THE TWO PRECEPT0B8 27 T 

Clnglant (fiercely). Know, Sir, that I have not read any of 
these authors, and I am proud of the fact. 

Charles. Here are two learned men of equal force. 

Ledru (warmly). You have not read that sublime chapter 
— that chapter which I have in mind and with me as much as 
though I had it under my eyes ? It is the one where the others 
think they have cornered him, and say to him so-and-so, and 
so-and-so, and so-and-so. And he knocks out their under- 
pinning and replies to them. Ah, you pretend that — and he 
proves that so-and-so, and so-and-so, and so-and-so. Ah, how 
it is written! I change, perhaps, some words of the text, but 
this is the basis of the argument. 

Cinglant. Ah, well, it is just there that I call you to halt. 
It is on the paragraph that you are going to cite. 

Ledru. Ah, you attack me on the paragraph? 

M. Roherville. I beg you to be calm. 

Ledru. No, let me be ; I want to pulverize him — to cite to 
him only that other — that gentleman — his follower, the 
great — 

Charles. Voltaire, doubtless. 

Ledru. M. Voltaire — that's it. If you had passed with 
me under the vestibule of the Frangaise ^ two hours each even- 
ing at the foot of his statue, you might boast of knowing your 
authors. And I feel that one ought to put him into the hands 
of children, even before they know how to read. It could do 
no harm later, I declare. 

Cinglant. I deny it ; and I feel that it would be worth 
more — (He makes the gesture previously described. ) 

Ledru. And the consequences of your system ! You don't 
sense them — you ! But now, don't let us leave the issue — 
that is to say, you are wrong and I am right — that which was 
to be shown, and which I have shown in a vigorous manner. 

M. Roherville. The fact is, that this is a discussion which 
seems to me very learned. What do you say of it, my son ? 

1 A very celebrated theater of tragedy in Paris. 



278 EUGENE SCRIBE 

Charles. I say you are right (to Ledru), and that he is a 
great man (to Ms father)^ a man of merit, and that I will not 
wait to find another preceptor who is his equal. 

Ledru (aside). I was sure I would take them all in. 

Cinglant (to Charles). He is an ignoramus I 

Charles. An ignoramus I How's that ? I am certain that 
few persons who discuss this subject know more of it than he. 
Sir (to Ledru)., I'll take my first lesson when you wish — even 
now. 

M. Roherville. That is right. I will leave you. I am going 
to dine in the city at the neighboring chateau, and will not 
return till evening. Good-by, M. St. Ange ; I turn over the 
house to you. 

Cinglant (aside). Heavens I All these savants — some one 
ought to — (Aloud.) I salute you. 

Ledru. I don't salute you ! 

(M. Cinglant and M. Roherville withdraw.) 



Scene XIII. — The same. 

Ledru (aside). Well, that has come out better than I ex- 
pected, and my pupil is a charming young man. 

Charles. Good ! My father's gone. His horse is gone, and 
in five minutes we shall be masters of the house. Listen here ! 
(To Ledru.) 

Ledru (looking about him). Listen here ! Why, to whom 
is he speaking ? 

Charles. Zounds ! To you, scoundrel ! 

Ledru. Ah, there, young man, if you will please soften your 
expressions ! That is a tone to which I am not accustomed. 

Charles. Take that back, for Jeanne tte has told me all 
about you. At first I was going to knock you down, but I 
have changed my plan. They have given me a rascal, but it's 
worth while to keep you. So I'll consent to be under you, pro- 
vided you'll obey my orders. By the way, I believe I remem- 



THm: two PliECEPTORS 279 

ber you. I have seen you at Paris, at the establishment of 
Sainval, la rue Cerutti. 

Ledru. It was not I. 

Charles. Brazen-faced villain — 

Ledru. It was not I. 

Charles. — who all day long played for us on the violin. 

Ledru. False ! 

Charles. That is what I was about to say — and who dis- 
tressed our ears. 

Ledru (aside'). That's true. (Aloud.) It was not I. I am 
— • I dare say it — the Demosthenes of the violin. I was born 
to excel in the sciences and the arts. I feel my vocation. 
Genius cannot be tied down. 

Charles. I don't deny j^ou to be a man of genius ; and pro- 
vided you conduct yourself as a servant of genius, that's all 
that is needed. My father ought to be a good way off by this 
time, and during his absence we want to give a ball at the 
chateau. It is the village holiday. 

Ledru. But, Sir — 

Charles. Listen to me. You are my tutor. It is for you 
to arrange that he shall know nothing of it. But I forget that 
I must give out the invitations in the village. There, brush off 
my coat a little. I must hurry on my necktie. 

Ledru. But, Sir, is it decent that your tutor, a distinguished 
professor — 

Charles (throwing his coat to him, and entering another room). 
Come ! Do as I say ! 



ScEKE XIV. — The same. 

(Ledru alone, brushing a coat.) 

Ledru. This is what I call having no idea at all of pro- 
priety. I'll have to give him some lessons on that subject; 
but to talk to him about it just at this time — (He hangs 
the coat on a chair and whips it with his hands, singing.) 



280 EUGENE SCEIBE 

Flap ! flap ! O what a dust, 
Flap ! flap ! How they would laugh ! 

Flap ! flap ! Governor-servant ! 

Flap ! flap ! How they would chaff ! 

But I do not mind the scandal 
When I think about my purse, 

For in such a situation 
Many a teacher might do worse. 

What a luckless, wretched valet 
Has to do for a hundred francs, 

When it pays as now it pays me. 
With professional service ranks. 



Scene XY. — The same, 
(^M. Roherville enters.^ 

M. Roherville, Good Heavens ! What do I see ? Our tutor, 
brushing my son's coat. 

Ledru. That is nothing — nothing at all. Don't mind it. 
It follows from my system of education, don't you see. I have 
what my pupil should in propriety have. We philosophers 
regard propriety as the mirror of the soul. 

M. Roherville. Agreed. But it is not necessary for you to 
give yourself this trouble. The underservant — 

Ledru, You don't catch my idea. I am the servant. The 
first teaching of wisdom is to learn to get away from others 
and to wait on oneself. 

(^Charles is heard from within.^ 

Charles, Well, let's see that coat, now. Have you fin- 
ished it ? 

Ledru. You see, I must take it to him. 

M. Roherville (holding him hack). How? I cannot permit 
that — 

Ledru. I beg pardon, let me go. You see that he is waiting. 

M. Roherville. Well, let him wait. Stay here. I want 
him to learn some respect. 



THE TWO PRECEPTORS 281 

Scene XVI. — The same. 
(^Charles enters excitedly.) 

Charles. Ah, there you are ! Answer when I call you ! 
(^Shaking his fist at Ledru.) I don't know what holds me 
back. (^Aside.) There's my father ! 

Ledru. No, strike now. I'd like to know who hinders 
you. (To M. Roherville.) Will you be good enough to lend 
me your cane ? (^To Charles.) Hold! Don't stand on cere- 
mony. I will say to you as that general or that Greek cor- 
poral, to whom they wished to administer a soldier's flogging, 
"Strike, but hear me." (To M. Boherville.) Ha! He is 
confounded ! Well, that is the way to rule them — the way to 
conquer them, to break their will. I know there are dangers 
to run, but if we look to that — 

M. Roherville. Heavens ! I don't accept that. 

Ledru. Now, young man, since you are of a mind to listen 
to me, here is your coat. But don't take on that tone again. 
(^Helps him on with his coat.) I let it go this time. Another 
time it will be altogether different. I warn you. (To M. 
Roherville.) Ah, what a lesson ! 

M. Roherville (^aside). My conscience ! What an original 
professor! (^Low^ to Ledru.) I was about to leave, when I 
recollected an important matter. To-day is the village holi- 
day and I must forbid — but come with me to the carriage, 
and I'll give you all my instructions. (To Charles.) Good- 
by. Sir, and learn to respect the worthy professor I have 
given you. (^M. Roherville and Ledru retire.) 

Scene XVII. — The dining hall of the chateau. 

Charles. Poor Ledru ! Heaven couldn't have sent me a 
governor more to my taste. (^To JElise^ who enters^ followed hy 
Antoine.) Elise, Elise ! We are masters of the house, and the 
whole place is ours ! (^To Antoine.) Antoine, go and announce 
in the village that I'm going to give a dance at the chateau. 



282 EUGENE SCBIBE 

Give orders for the refreshments. Be careful to get a violin 
— do yon hear? I want the entertainment to be complete. 

Elise. And this is the severe governor they were telling me 
about ! 

Charles. O, don't let that scare you. 

Scene XVIII. — The same. 
(Jeannette enters.) 

Jeannette. Your father is off, at last. I saw him on the 
avenue. As he stepped into the carriage, there was a little 
fellow of my uncle's school, who came to give him a letter. 
Your father did like this (making a gesture of astonishment)., 
and then like this (mahing another gesture). But he put the 
letter into his pocket, and went on. 

Charles. O, Jeannette never forgets anything. 

Jeannette. Truly, when a person looks, she can't help seeing 
all. That's not the whole of it. While Monsieur was reading 
the letter. Jasmin came up to me. 

Charles. My governor, you mean? 

Jeannette. Yes, your governor ; and he mysteriously told 
me this : '' Jeanette," he says, " I must speak to you in secret. 
Where is your room?" It's odd, a request like that! What 
does he want ? 

Elise. And what did you say to him ? 

Jeannette. Beg pardon, Miss, but I did like that (holding 
out her hand) at the side of the great staircase — where I 
generally have my room. 

(Peasants are heard behind the scene., singing :) 

It is the village festival, 
And every one must go — 

Elise. What is this noise ? 

Jeannette. It's the whole village, which has responded to 
your invitation. 
(Jeannette walks away. The chorus continues behind the scene.) 



Charles (^sin^s). 



THE TWO PliECEPTORS 283 

It is the village festival, 

And every one must go. 
Deign to receive the homage 

AYhich here we come to show. 



^^'isdom will take no offense, 
And a little sport we earn ; 

Let us play while she's away ; 
All too soon she will return. 



ScEi^E XIX. — The same. 
{Enter Antoine and the peasants.^ 
Peasants {smging^. 

It is the village festival, 

And every one must go. 
Deign to receive the homage 

Which here we come to show. 

Charles. Come, friends, take your places. I'll dance with 
Jeannette. 

Jeannette. O, but the violin ! 

Antoine. Here it is. 

Charles. Who is there to play it ? - 

Antoine. I don't know. You gave no directions as to that. 

Charles. What about the violinists ? 

Jeannette. They didn't believe that there would be any 
party at the chateau, and they're at a commune ball, a mile 
away. 

Charles. Well, what are we going to do? QA noise is heard 
without.^ 

ScEKE XX. — The same. 

{Ledrn enters^ in a disordered condition.) 

Ledru. O! O! 
Charles. Well, Avhat now ? 

Ledru. Nothing — an adventure — that was funny enough 
— O, my back ! 



284 EUGENE SCRIBE 

Charles. But — 

Ledru. Nay, I'll tell you all. O I Happily, no one recog- 
nized me ; and if my back suffers, my reputation is saved. 
(^Recollects himself^ and notes the presence of the peasants.) 
What do I see ? Here is exactly what your father for- 
bade. 

Charles. What does it matter ? 

Ledru. Consider my responsibility. I can't look on and 
see this. 

Charles. Well, don't look, then. (^To the villagers.) Ah, 
my friends, I've an idea. We are rescued ! Here's my gov- 
ernor, who is a great hand at the violin ; and since he's not 
averse to fun, I'm sure he'll have us dance, if some one will 
coax him a little. 

All. Do, Monsieur. 

Ledru. No, gentlemen, my dignity — 

Charles (^aside to Ledru). Accept, or I'll knock you 
down. 

Ledru. With the greatest pleasure I 

Jeannette. Hold on. Here's a barrel for an orchestra plat- 
form. 

Ledru (aside to Jeannette). Hold your tongue, traitoress I 

Jeannette. Wh}^ what's the matter with him? 

Ledru (aside to Charles). Worse and worse ! It would be 
impossible to degrade me further. Help me to climb up. 
(He takes his place on the top of the hogshead.) Now, then, 
take your places I ( They form for a contradance. He takes the 
violin and plays.) English chain ! 



All (sing), 



Highly honored are we now ; 

Science — 

Science rules the dance ! 
To the governor make your bow ; 
Glory rests upon his brow. 

Science — 

Science rules the dance ! 



THE TWO PJRECEPTORS 285 

Charles (^sings^ to Ledru). 

Why did you hesitate, why did you fear, 
In the high seat of honor, to handle the bow ? 

No one who saw you would take you to be 
A learned professor, you know. 

All (sing^. 

Highly honored are we now ; 

Science — 

Science rules the dance ! 
To the governor make your bow ; 
Glory rests upon his brow. 

Science rules the dance ! 

(TAe dance becomes animated^ and Ledru calls off the figures.) 

Scene XXI. — The same. 

(^M. Roherville enters at the rear., with a letter in his hand^ and 
looks on^ for some time.) 

M. Roherville. Having a good time ? Don't put yourselves 
out ! So there was good reason for that letter which informed 
me that they were only waiting for me to leave. And you, 
Monsieur Governor ? 

Ledru. What was I to do ? Am I to blame ? When I left 
you, I found everything already arranged. How could I pre- 
vent the young girls dancing ? 

M. Roherville. Soon enough ! But you are managing the 
dance. 

Ledru. Ah, that's different. There's where I show the 
best judgment. When I found I couldn't oppose this perform- 
ance, I said to myself, "At least, I'll be on hand." And I 
was, and am still. 

M. Roherville. But after all, is that the position of a 
philosopher ? 

Ledru. So far as the barrel is concerned — What the deuce ! 
— Diogenes had one, certainly. The only difference is that he 
was inside, and I'm on the top. You can see for yourself that 
my position is in some respects superior to his. 



286 EUGENE SCRIBE 

Scene XXII. — The same. 
(^M. Cinglant enters.^ 

M. Cinglant. Where is he ? Where is he — the rascal I 
took by surprise in Jeannette's room ? 

Ledru (aside). Come, there's our infernal schoolmaster. 
Tm in for it ! 

M. Cinglant. He has escaped me, but in the struggle he lost 
off his hat. 

Ledru. Heavens ! It's mine. 

M. Cinglant. What ! It's yours, Professor ? How sorry I 
am that I gave you such blows with the broomstick. 

Ledru. That's nothing. In fact, no one saw it. It was 
the fault of M. Roberville, who ought to have had windows in 
his mansard. It will only be a few days of pain. 

M. Cinglant. They ought to be good, because of your lofty 
bearing. But beside the hat was a portfolio, and we shall see — 

Ledru. Don't open it. It's mine. 

M. Cinglant. It's not yours, at all. It belongs to a person 
named Ledru. 

Ledru (^aside). Now for explanations! 

M. Cinglant. There is even a letter for Monsieur. 

M. Roberville (taking the letter). A letter addressed to me? 
What do I see? M. St. Ange declines the position of pre- 
ceptor, and you bring me the letter ? Who are you, then ? 

M. Cinglant (holding another- paper). Strange ! Look at 
this pass book : '' Ledru., servant of M. St. Ange^''^ — and his 
description — '-'-nose long., mouth large., ears ditto. ''^ You can put 
this and that together. 

M. Roberville. What does that mean ? 

Ledru. That, since my character is known, I renounce the 
professorship, and, for the price of my services, I ask the hand 
of Jeannette, my old-time companion. 

M. Roberville. My little garden maid ? 

Ledru. I'm not proud, and we'll have the two weddings 



THE TWO PRECEPTORS 287 

together. For you told me, confidentially, that you intended 
Charles to marry his cousin. 
Charles and Elise. Is that so ? 

M. Roherville (incensed at Ledru). He's a traitor ! 
Charles. And to thank him for it, I'll take it on myself to see 
to Jeannette's dowry, and I'll take my governor into my service. 
M. Clnglant. Ah, then you are not a savant? 
Ledru. Heavens, no ! No more than you are — the more 
reason why I should come into your family. I abandon the 
career of public education. I go back to service ; and if I 
have lost my rhetoric with you, I hope that in the kitchen I 
shall not lose my Latin. 
(Sings.) 

» Ah, my kitchen beauty rare 

Is my vade mecum. 
All my other Latin words, — 

Vainly do I seek 'em. 
Only one remains to me 

When I would align 'em, 
For, of all the Latin words, 

I remember vinum. 
I, among the learned men. 

Primus was, nor minus, 

Yet for all, in fact, was I 

Asinus ! As-i-nus f^ 

M. Clnglant (sings). 

All my cohort infantine, 

That the folks kept sendin' us, 
Learned in childhood to decline 

All the nouns that end in us. 
Dominus and asinus 

They were always mixing. 
When the nouns I bade them give, 

How they needed fixing ! 
When the word for master came. 

They, the poor definers — 
From their little throats came forth 
Asinus ! As-i-nus ! 

1 The change of accent in the repetition of this word helps the rhythm. 



288 EUGENE SCBIBE 

Charles (^sings). 

With a voice like Stentor's i loud, 

See the clownish fellow ! 
How he would impress us all, 

With his heavy bellow ! 
All the works of grand Voltaire, — 

How he has abused them ; 
Judgment given upon them all, 

Though he's ne'er perused them ! 
" Ah," they say, " how learned he is ! 

How his words incline us ! " 
But his ears will still protrude — 
Asinus ! As-i-nus ! 

M. Roherville (^sings). 

Of my country's glorious speech, 

Never was I knowing. 
Ignorance of all its works 

Always I am showing. 
Innocent of Latin, too. 

Prose or epic measure ; 
But where money can be found. 

There I find my treasure. 
We who seek for wealth alone, 

And to that resign us, 
Though we reach it, we are called 
Asinus! As-i-nus! 

Jeannette (^sings). 

Last, the author of the play, 

N'ot at all pretending, 
Has a word for me- to say, 

At the drama's ending. 
With pretense of talents rare 

He would ne'er abuse you. 
But has sought, with single heart, 

Only to amuse you. 
If we have achieved his hope. 

Then you'll not assign us 
To the ranks of those we call 
Asinus! As-i-nus! 

1 Stentor was a loud-voiced herald, mentioned by Homer. 



NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS 

Forty years ago, everybody was laughing or crying over Fanny Fern. 
Her bright pictures of life and her pathetic sketches were everywhere read 
in the United States. Her own personality was discernible on every page. 
When her story of Ruth Hall appeared, it was universally recognized as a 
sort of autobiography. The key to the story was soon supplied, for the 
public was deeply interested in all that pertained to the peerless Fanny. 
" Hyacinth EUet," the selfish fop in the narrative, was declared to be her 
brother, the well-known poet, Nathaniel Parker Willis. 

Fanny Fern is no longer read, and her sarcastic detraction has lost its 
force. With the petty feuds of her family the public no longer concerns 
itself, and the general estimation of the poet is based upon the merits of his 
works. These are gaining in favor as the years go by, and criticism is left 
free to pass upon them without the bias which the brilliant but unloving 
sister created in the minds of her vast army of readers. 

Willis was a native of Portland, Me., and was born in 1806. He was 
graduated from Yale College at the age of twenty, and at the same 
time entered upon his career as an author. His first volume of poems was 
published over the pseudonym of " Ray." An early enterprise in journalism 
failed, but he soon achieved success as a European correspondent of The 
New York Mirror^ in which he was pecuniarily interested. His letters of 
travel which appeared in this magazine were subsequently collected and 
published under the title. Penciling s hy the Way. 

In Europe AVillis became attached to the American Ministry at Paris, 
and traveled extensively through the Mediterranean lands and the East. 
He returned to the United States in 1837, taking up his residence near 
Oswego, N.Y. Again failing in an enterprise of his own, he returned to 
his work of foreign correspondence, in which he was always successful. 
On his return from Eui'ope in 1846, he resided at Idlewild, near Newburg, 
N.Y., becoming at the same time associated in the editorship of The Home 
Journal, to which he contributed to the time of his death in 1867. 

Among Willis's most familiar poems are Ahmlom, Jephthah's Daughter, 
Parrhasius, and The Dying Alchymist to His Soul. His versification is mar- 
velously perfect in its rhythm, and his poetry is delicate in its thought and 
expression, though he has been criticised as foppish and affected in his vn:it- 
ings, and, indeed, he seems at times to be lacking in manly vigor. 
SCH. IN COM. — 19 289 



290 NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS 

The Scholar of Thehet Ben Khorat is representative of his style, and is so 
characteristic that its authorship would have been very generally recognized 
had it been published anonymously. It will remind the reader of Biron's 
pessimism in Shakspeare's Love's Labor's Lost. Study must have its martyrs, 
but this fact contains no valid argument against the reasonable gratifica- 
tion of the higher aspirations of the soul. The poem impresses a needed 
lesson of moderation in study — a lesson which every teacher should heed. 
It contains an anachronism, for it speaks of the use of a telescope at a time 
preceding the invention of that instrument. 



THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN KHORAT 

I. 

Night in Arabia. An hour ago, 

Pale Dian had descended from the sky, 

Flinging her cestus out upon the sea, 

And at their watches, now, the solemn stars 

Stood vigilant and lone ; and, dead asleep, 

With not a shadow moving on its breast. 

The breathing earth lay in its silver dew, 

And, trembling on their myriad viewless wings. 

The imprisoned odors left the flowers to dream, 

And stole away upon the yielding air. 

Ben Khorat's ^ tower stands shadowy and tall 

In Mecca's loneliest street ; and ever there. 

When night is at the deepest, burns his lamp 

As constant as the Cynosure,^ and forth 

From his looped window stretched the brazen tubes, 

Pointing forcA^er at the central star 

Of that dim nebula just lifting now 

Over Mount Arafat. The sky to-night 

1 A famous Arabian astrologer, who is said to have spent forty years or more 
in discovering the " eighth sphere." This was the outer transparent shell in 
which the heavenly bodies were supposed to be fixed, so as to secure their orderly 
revolution about tlie earth. The latter was thought to be at rest. 

2 The Great Dipper. 



THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN KHOBAT 291 

Is of a clearer blackness than is wont, 

And far within its depths the colored stars 

Sparkle like gems — capricious Antares 

Flushing and paling in the Southern arch ; 

And azure Lyra, like a woman's eye, 

Burning with soft blue luster ; and away 

Over the desert, the bright Polar star. 

White as a flashing icicle ; and here. 

Hung like a lamp above the Arabian sea, 

Mars, with his dusky glow ; and, fairer yet, 

Mild Sirius tinct with dewy violet. 

Set like a flower upon the breast of Eve ; 

And in the zenith, the sweet Pleiades ^ 

(Alas — that even a star may pass from heaven 

And not be missed I) — the linked Pleiades 

Undimmed are there, though from the sister* band 

The fairest has gone down ; and, South away, 

Hirundo, with its little company ; 

And white-browed Vesta, lamping on her path. 

Lonely and planet-calm, and, all through heaven. 

Articulate almost, they troop to-night. 

Like unrobed angels in a prophet's trance. 

Ben Khorat knelt before his telescope. 
Gazing with earnest stillness on the stars. 
The gray hairs, struggling from his turban folds, 
Played with the entering wind upon his cheeks, 
And on his breast his venerable beard. 
With supernatural whiteness, loosely fell. 
The black flesh swelled about his sandal-thongs. 
Tight with his painful posture, and his lean 
And withered fingers to his knees were clenched. 
And the thin lashes of his straining eye 

1 These are in the zenith at their culmination, in Arabia. According to an 
old legend, there were originally seven of the Pleiades, and one has disappeared 
from the group. 



292 NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS 

Lay with unwinking closeness to the lens, 
Stiffened with tense up-turning. Hour by hour, 
Till the stars melted in the flush of morn. 
The old astrologer knelt moveless there, 
Ra^dshed past pain with the bewildering spheres, 
And, hour by hour, with the same patient thought, 
Pored his pale scholar ^ on the characters 
Of Chaldee writ, or, as his gaze grew dim 
With weariness, the dark-eyed Arab laid 
His head upon the window, and looked forth 
Upon the heavens awhile, until the dews 
And the soft beauty of the silent night 
Cooled his flushed eyelids, and then patiently 
He turned unto his constant task again. 

The sparry glinting of the Morning Star 
Shot through the leaves of a majestic palm 
Fringing Mount Arafat, and, as it caught 
The eye of the rapt scholar, he arose 
And clasped the volume with an eager haste, 
And as the glorious planet mounted on. 
Melting her way into the upper sky. 
He breathlessly gazed on her : — 

" Star of the silver ray ! 
Bright as a god, but punctual as a slave — 
What spirit the eternal canon gave 

That bends thee to thy way ? 
What is the soul that, on thine arrowy light. 
Is walking earth and heaven in pride to-night ? 

" We know when thou wilt soar 
Over the mount — thy change, and place, and time — 
'Tis written in the Chaldee's mystic rhyme, 

1 An Arab youth who abandoned his tribe and sacrificed his loved steed to 
study with the astrologer, Ben Khorat. Giving himself no rest, and straining 
his mind beyond its powers, he became insane and died from overstudy. 



THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN KHOBAT 293 

As 'twere a priceless lore ! 
I knew as much in my Bedouin garb — 
Coursing the desert on my flying barb ! 

" How oft amid the tents, 
Upon Sahara's sands I've walked alone, 
Waiting all night for thee, resplendent one ! 

With what magnificence. 
In the last watches, to my thirsting eye. 
Thy passionate beauty flushed into the sky ! 

" Oh God ! How flew my soul 
Out to thy glory — upward on thy ray — 
Panting as thou ascendest on thy way. 

As if thine own control — 
This searchless spirit that I cannot find — 
Had set its radiant law upon my mind ! 

" More than all stars in heaven 
I felt thee in my heart ! My love became 
A frenzy, and consumed me with its flame, 

Ay, in the desert even — 
My dark-eyed Abra coursing at my side — 
The star, not Abra, was my spirit's bride ! 

" My Abra is no more ! 
My '- desert-bird ' is in a stranger's stall — 
My tribe, my tent — I sacrificed them all 

For this heart-wasting lore ! — 
Yet, than all these, the thought is sweeter far — 
Thou wert ascendant at my birth, bright star ! 

" The Chaldee calls me thine — 
And in this breast, that I must rend to be 
A spirit upon wings of light like thee, 

I feel that thou art mine ! 
Oh God, that these dull fetters would give way 
And let me forth to track thy silver ray ! " 



294 NATHANmL PABKEE WILLIS 

***** Ben Khorat rose 
And silently looked forth upon the East. 
The dawn was stealing up into the sky 
On its gray feet ; the stars grew dim apace, 
And faded, till the Morning Star alone, 
Soft as a molten diamond's liquid fire. 
Burned in the heavens. The morn grew freshlier- 
The upper clouds were faintly touched with gold ; 
The fan-palms rustled in the early air ; 
Daylight spread cool and broadly to the hills ; 
And still the star was visible, and still 
The young Bedouin, with a straining eye, 
Drank its departing light into his soul. 
It faded — melted — and the fiery rim 
Of the clear sun came up, and painfully 
The passionate scholar pressed upon his eyes 
His dusky fingers, and, with limbs as weak 
As a sick child's, turned fainting to his couch, 
And slept. ****** 



n. 



* * It was the morning watch once more. 

The clouds were drifting rapidly above. 

And dim and fast the glimmering stars flew through ; 

And as the fitful gust soughed mournfully. 

The shutters shook, and on the sloping roof 

Plashed, heavily, large, single drops of rain — 

And all was still again. Ben Khorat sat 

By the dim lamp, and^ while his scholar slept, 

Pored on the Chaldee wisdom. At his feet. 

Stretched on a pallet, lay the Arab boy. 

Muttering fast in his unquiet sleep. 

And working his dark fingers in his palms 

Convulsively. His sallow lips were pale. 



THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN KIIORAT 295 

And, as they moved, his teeth showed ghastly through, 

White as a charnel bone, and — closely drawn 

Upon his sunken eyes, as if to press 

Some frightful image from the bloodshot balls — 

His lids a moment quivered, and again 

Relaxed, half open, in a calmer sleep. 

Ben Khorat gazed upon the dropping sands 

Of the departing hour. The last Avhite grain 

Fell through, and with the tremulous hand of age 

The old astrologer reversed the glass ; 

And, as the voiceless monitor went on, 

Wasting and wasting with the precious hour, 

He looked upon it with a moving lip, 

And, starting, turned his gaze upon the heavens, 

Cursing the clouds impatiently. 

'"Tis time!" 
Muttered the dying scholar, and he dashed 
The tangled hair from his black eyes away, 
And, seizing on Ben Khorat's mantle-folds. 
He struggled to his feet, and falling prone 
Upon the window-ledge, gazed steadfastly 
Into the East : — 

'' There is a cloud between — 
She sits this instant on the mountain's brow, 
And that dusk veil hides all her glory now — 

Yet floats she as serene 

Into the heavens ! Oh God ! that even so 

I could o'ermount my spirit-cloud, and go ! 

'-'- The cloud begins to drift ! 
Aha ! fling open ! 'tis the star — the sky ! 
Touch me, immortal mother ! and I fly ! 

Wider ! thou cloudy rift ! 
Let through ! Such glory should have radiant room ! 
Let through ! A star-child on its light goes home ! 



296 NATHANIEL PAliKEE WILLIS 

" Speak to me, brethren bright ! 
Ye who are floating in these living beams ! 
Ye who have come to me in starry dreams ! 

Ye who have winged the light 
Of our bright mother with its thoughts of flame 
(I knew it passed through spirits as it came) — 

" Tell me, what power have ye ? 
What are the heights ye reach upon your wings ? 
What know ye of the myriad wondrous things 

I perish but to see ? 
Are ye thought-rapid ? Can ye fly as far — 
As instant as a thought, from star to star ? 

" Where has the Pleiad gone ? 
Where have all missing stars found light and home ? 
Who bids the Stella Mira go and come ? 

Why sits the Pole-star lone ? 
And why, like banded sisters, through the air 
Go in bright troops the constellations fair ? 

"Ben Khorat, dost thou mark ? 
The star ! The star ! By Heaven ! The cloud drifts o'er ! 
Gone — and I live ! nay — will my heart beat more ? 

Look, Master ! Tis all dark ! 
Not a clear speck in heaven ? My eyeballs smother ! 
Break through the clouds once more ! Oh starry mother ! 

" I will lie down ! Yet stay. 
The rain beats out the odor from the gums. 
And strangely soft to-night the spice-wind comes I 

I am a child alway 
When it is on my forehead ! Abra sweet ! 
Would I were in the desert at thy feet ! 



THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN KHORAT 297 

" My barb I My glorious steed ! 
Metliinks my soul would mount upon its track 
More fleetly, could I die upon thy back ! 

How would thy thrilling speed 
Quicken my pulse ! Oh Allah ! I get wild ! 
Would that I were once more a desert child ! 



" Nay — nay — I had forgot ! 
My mother ! My starry mother ! Ha, my breath 
Stifles More air ! Ben Khorat ! This is — death ! 

Touch me I feel you not ! 

Dying ! Farewell good Master ! Room ! More room ! 
Abra ! I loved thee, star ! Bright star I I come ! ' 

How idly of the human heart we speak, 
Giving it gods of clay ! How worse than vain 
Is the school homily, that Eden's fruit 
Cannot be plucked too freely from " the tree 
Of good and evil." Wisdom sits alone. 
Topmost in heaven. She is its light — its God I 
And in the heart of man she sits as high — 
Though groveling eyes forget her oftentimes, 
Seeing but this world's idols. The pure mind 
Sees her forever ; and in youth we come 
Filled with her sainted ravishment, and kneel, 
Worshiping God through her sweet altar fires, 
And then is knowledge "good." We come too oft — 
The heart grows proud with fullness, and we soon 
Look with licentious freedom on the maid 
Throned in celestial beauty. There she sits, 
Robed in her soft and seraph loveliness, 
Instructing and forgiving, and we gaze 
Until desire grows wild, and, with our hands 
Upon her very garments, are struck down. 
Blasted with a consuming fire from heaven ! 



298 NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS 

Yet oh ! How full of music from her lips 

Breathe the calm tones of wisdom ! Human praise 

Is sweet — till envy mars it, and the touch 

Of new-won gold stirs up the pulses well ; 

And woman's love, if in a beggar's lamp 

'Twould burn, might light us clearly through the world ; 

But Knowledge hath a far more 'wildering tongue, 

And she will stoop and lead you to the stars. 

And witch you with her mysteries — till gold 

Is a forgotten dross, and power and fame. 

Toys of an hour, and woman's careless love. 

Light as the breath that breaks it. He who binds 

His soul to knowledge steals the key of heaven — 

But 'tis a bitter mockery that the fruit 

May hang within his reach, and when, with thirst 

Wrought to a maddening frenzy, he would taste — 

It burns his lips to ashes ! 



VI 
DICKENS 



CHARLES DICKENS 

Dickens the humorist is " by far the most popular author of recent 
times." Dickens the sentimentalist has become almost a memory. " All 
critics, and the vast majority of readers," says Henry J. Mckell, "are now 
agreed in regarding Dickens's pathos as immeasurably inferior to his humor, 
looking upon the former as coarse and unrefined, and ridiculously senti- 
mental ; yet at one time not only did thousands of ordinary readers cry over 
his pages, but such men as Jeffrey and Macready followed suit." 

The greatest of novel writers was born at Landport, England, in 1812. 
His father, who is portrayed as Mr. Micawber in David Copperfield, was a 
clerk in one of the Government offices, who essayed a role of gentility which 
his straitened circumstances did not warrant, and was eventually thrown 
into the debtors' prison, the " Marshalsea," in London. 

Dickens received some desultory training in elementary schools at Chat- 
ham, when very young, and then became an office drudge. Afterwards he 
passed two years in an academy, which he quitted at fourteen to become a 
lawyer's clerk. His father had become a reporter for a morning paper in 
the metropolis, and the boy followed in his footsteps. 

At the age of twenty-two, Dickens began to write sketches for the Old 
Monthly Magazine, — which were subsequently reprinted under the name of 
Sketches by Boz. These were followed by the Pickwick Papers, a series of 
racy compositions descriptive of a club of London cockneys. The latter 
were published monthly, and were illustrated by Seymour, an artist of some 
eminence. The popularity of these humorous delineations was so sudden 
and so great that the author soon rose to the editorship of a monthly maga- 
zine, Bentley's Miscellanies. In its pages he carried on, simultaneously with 
the later Pickwick Papers, a work of an entirely different character, the novel 
entitled Oliver Twist. Nicholas Nicklehy immediately followed. 

In 1842 Mr. Dickens visited the United States, where he was cordially 
received. He published his impressions of the country in a book entitled 
American Notes, for General Circulation. So severe was this book in its criti- 
cisms of American society and life, that it largely alienated from him the 
high esteem in which he had been held by his American readers. Two 
years later appeared another unfriendly criticism on America, in a different 
form — a satirical novel entitled Martin Chuzzlewit, which in England is 

301 



302 CHARLES DICKENS 

accouDted one of his best works, though highly offensive still to the majority 
of American readers. 

Xew novels now appeared in rapid succession. Dombey and Son and 
David Copperjield (both of which contain satu'ical pictures of education) are 
said to have marked the highest attainment of his genius. From this time 
his works became more sentimental, and less humorous. Bleak House and 
Hard Times (1853 and 1854) mark the transition in style. Then followed 
Little Dorrit, A Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, Our Mutual Friend, 
and The Mystery of Edwin Drood. The latter was unfinished at the time of 
the author's death, in 1870. 

In 1867-8 Mr. Dickens visited America a second time, was forgiven his 
American Notes and Martin Chuzzlewit, and reaped a fortune from the gener- 
ous patronage which was given to his readings. 

Dickens wrote a Child's History of England, in a manner peculiarly its 
own, and was the author of many short stories and sketches. 

In person, Mr. Dickens is described as having been vain and egotistical. 
His domestic relations were destroyed by his " incompatibility of temper," 
and his wife separated from him. Yet he was generous and liberal in his 
advocacy of every good cause, fond of children, — a real knight-errant in his 
championship of the oppressed and the unfortunate. 

The humor of Dickens has been of incalculable benefit to society. It set 
in motion the forces for reform in social life, in education, in law, and in 
government. It procured the abolition of many evils which pressed espe- 
cially upon the young and the poor. In Nicholas Nickleby he satirizes the 
wretched and fi'audulent Yorkshire schools, to which many illegitimate chil- 
dren were sent to be gotten rid of ; in Dombey and Son he portrays the evils 
of the " cramming " process in schools of a higher class. In Hard Times he 
depicts a system of education in which the imagination is wholly unculti- 
vated and despised. 

The latter book is of special benefit to the school world, and supports the 
best educational thought of to-day by the author's favorite form of argument 
— the reductio ad absurdum. It would be more acceptable to modern taste 
had it been written in a tone of light humor. But the author was intensely 
in earnest, and chose to have his story contain the tragedy rather than the 
comedy of life. The Gradgrind system of education was utterly abhor- 
rent to his nature; and the reader will appreciate the biting sarcasm of 
Mr. Gradgrind's remark to his young daughter, on devoting her to a loveless 
marriage with a sordid, heartless man of fifty years : " It has always been my 
object so to educate you, as that you might, while still in your early youth, be (if I 
may so express myself) almost any age." 

In that remarkable book. Letters to Dead A uthors, Andrew Lang addresses 
the departed Dickens, expressing the liveliest appreciation of the great 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 303 

novelist's humor, but deprecating his sentimental passages over which a 
preceding generation shed unaffected tears. 

"Ah, sir," says Lang, "how could you — who knew so intimately, who 
remembered so strangely well the fancies, the dreams, the suffeiings of 
childhood, — how could you 'wallow naked in the pathetic,' and massacre 
holocausts of the innocents ? 

" To draw tears over a child's deathbed, was it worthy of you ? Was it 
the kind of work over which our hearts should melt ? T confess that Little 
Nell might die a dozen times, and be welcomed by whole legions of angels, 
and I (like the bereaved fowl mentioned by Marjorie Fleming) would 
remain unmoved. 

* She was more than usual calm,' 

wrote the astonishing child who diverted the leisure of Scott. Over your 
Little Nell and your Little Dombey, I remain more than usual calm ; and 
probably so do thousands of your most sincere admirers. . . . When an 
author sits deliberately down and says, ' Now, let us have a good cry,' he 
poisons the wells of sensibility, and chokes, at least in many breasts, the 
fountain of tears." . . . 

" How poor the world of fancy would be, how dispeopled of her dreams, 
if, in some ruin of the social system, the books of Dickens were lost ; and if 
the Dodger, and Charley Bates, and Mr. Crinkle, and Miss Squeers, and 
Sam "NVeller, and Mrs. Gamp, and Dick Swiveller were to perish ! We can- 
not think of our world without them ; and, children of dreams as they are, 
they seem more essential than are the great statesmen, artists, soldiers, 
who have actually worn flesh and blood, ribbons and orders, gowns and 
uniforms." 



THE GEADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 

(From Haj'd Times) 

I. The One Thing Needful 

" Now, what I want is Facts. Teach these boys and girls 
nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant 
nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form 
the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts ; nothing else will 
ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which 



304 CHARLES DICKENS 

I bring up my own children and this is the principle on which 
I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, Sir ! " 

The scene was a plain, bare, monotonous vault of a school- 
room, and the speaker's square forefinger emphasized his ob- 
servations by underscoring every sentence with a line on the 
schoolmaster's sleeve. The emphasis was helped by the speak- 
er's square wall of a forehead, which had his eyebrows for its 
base, while his eyes found commodious cellarage in two dark 
caves, overshadowed by the wall. The emphasis was helped 
by the speaker's mouth, which was wide, thin, and hard set. 
The emphasis was helped by the speaker's voice, which was 
inflexible, dry, and dictatorial. The emphasis was helped by 
the speaker's hair, which bristled on the skirts of his bald head, 
a plantation of firs to keep the wind from its shining surface, 
all covered with knobs, like the crust of a plum pie, as if the 
head had scarcely warehouse-room for the hard facts stored 
inside. The speaker's obstinate carriage, square coat, square 
legs, square shoulders, — nay, his very neckcloth, trained to 
take him by the throat with an unaccommodating grasp, like 
a stubborn fact, as it was, — all helped the emphasis. 

" In this life, we want nothing but Facts, Sir ; nothing but 
Facts ! " 

The speaker, and the schoolmaster, and the third grown 
person present, all backed a little, and swept with their eyes 
the inclined plane of little vessels then and there arranged in 
order, ready to have imperial gallons of facts poured into them 
until they were full to the brim." 

II. MUEDERLN^G THE INNOCENTS 

Thomas Gradgrind, Sir. A man of realities. A man of 
facts and calculations. A man who proceeds upon the principle 
that two and two are four, and nothing over, and who is not to 
be talked into allowing for anything over. Thomas Gradgrind, 
Sir — peremptorily Thomas — Thomas Gradgrind. With a rule 
and a pair of scales, and the multiplication table always in his 



THE aUADGRlND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 305 

pocket, Sir, ready to weigh and measure any parcel of Imman 
nature, and tell you exactly what it comes to. It is a mere 
question of figures, a case of simple arithmetic. You might 
hope to get some other noiisensical belief into the head of 
George Gradgrind, or Augustus Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, 
or Joseph Gradgrind (all suppositious, non-existent persons), 
but into the head of Thomas Gradgrind — no. Sir ! 

In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduces 
himself, whether to his private circle of acquaintance, or to the 
public in general. In such terms, no doubt, substituting the 
words "boys and girls," for "sir," Thomas Gradgrind now 
presented Thomas Gradgrind to the little pitchers before him, 
who were to be filled so full of facts. 

Indeed, as he eagerly sparkled at them from the cellarage 
before mentioned, he seemed a kind of cannon loaded to the 
muzzle with facts, and prepared to blow them clean out of the 
regions of childhood at one discharge. He seemed a galvaniz- 
ing apparatus, too, charged with a grim mechanical substitute 
for the tender young imaginations that were to be stormed 
away. 

" Girl Number Twenty," said Mr. Gradgrind, squarely point- 
ing with his square forefinger, " I don't know that girl. Who 
is that girl?" 

" Sissy Jupe, Sir," explained number twenty, blushing, stand- 
ing up, and courtesying. 

" Sissy is not a name," said Mr. Gradgrind. " Don't call 
yourself Sissy. Call yourself Cecilia." 

" It's father as calls me Siss3% Sir," returned the young girl 
in a trembling voice, and with another courtesy. 

"Then he has no business to do it," said Mr. Gradgrind. 
" Tell him he mustn't. Cecilia Jupe. Let me see. What is 
your father ? " 

"He belongs to the horse-riding, if you please. Sir." 

Mr. Gradgrind frowned, and waved off the objectionable 
calling with his hand. 

"We don't want to know anything about that, here. You 

SCH. IN COM. 20 



306 CHAELES DICKENS 

mustn't tell us about that, here. Your father breaks horses, 
don't he?" 

" If you please. Sir, when they can get any to break, they do 
break horses m the ring. Sir." 

" You mustn't tell us about the ring, here. Very well, then. 
Describe your father as a horsebreaker. He doctors sick 
horses, I dare say? " 

"Oh, yes. Sir." 

" Very well, then. He is a veterinary surgeon, a farrier, and 
horsebreaker. Give me your definition of a horse." 

(Sissy Jupe thrown into the greatest alarm by this demand.) 

" Girl Number Twenty unable to define a horse ! " said Mr. 
Gradgrind, for the general behoof of all the little pitchers. 
" Girl Number Twenty possessed of no facts, in reference to 
one of the commonest of animals ! Some boy's definition of a 
horse. Bitzer, yours." 

The square finger, moving here and there, lighted suddenly 
on Bitzer, perhaps because he chanced to sit in the same ray 
of sunlight which, darting in at one of the bare windows of 
the intensely whitewashed room, irradiated Sissy. For the 
boys and girls sat on the face of the inclined plane in two 
compact bodies, divided up the center by a narrow interval ; 
and Sissy, being at the corner of a row on the sunny side, 
came in for the beginning of a sunbeam, of which Bitzer, being 
at the corner of a row on the other side, a few rows in advance, 
caught the end. But whereas the girl was so dark-eyed and 
dark-haired that she seemed to- receive a deeper and more 
lustrous color from the sun, when it shone upon her, the boy 
was so light-eyed and light-haired that the selfsame rays 
appeared to draw out of him what little color he ever pos- 
sessed. His cold eyes would hardly have been eyes, but for 
the short ends of lashes which, by bringing them into imme- 
diate contrast with something paler than themselves, expressed 
their form. His short-cropped hair might have been a mere 
continuation of the sandy freckles on his forehead and face. 
His skin was so unwholesomely deficient in the natural tinge 



THE GliADGRI^^D SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 307 

that he looked as though, if he were cut, he would bleed 
white. 

"Bitzer," said Thomas Gradgrind. "Your definition of a 
horse." 

'' Quadruped. Graminivorous. Forty teeth ; namely, twenty- 
four grinders, four eyeteeth, and twelve incisive. Sheds coat 
in the spring; in marshy countries, sheds hoofs, too. Hoofs 
hard, but requiring to be shod with iron. Age known by 
marks in mouth." Thus (and much more) Bitzer. 

'' Now, Girl Number Twenty," said Mr. Gradgrind. " You 
know what a horse is." 

She courtesied again, and would have blushed deeper, if she 
could have blushed deeper than she had blushed all this time. 
Bitzer, after rapidly blinking at Thomas Gradgrind with both 
eyes at once, and so catching the light upon his quivering ends 
of lashes that they looked like the antennae of busy insects, 
put his knuckles to his freckled forehead, and sat down 
again. 

The third gentleman now- stepped forth. A mighty man at 
cutting and drying he was ; a government officer ; in his way 
(and in most other people's too), a professed pugilist ; always 
in training, always with a system to force down the general 
throat like a bolus, always to be heard of at the bar of his 
little public office, ready to fight all England. To continue 
in fistic phraseology, he had a genius for coming up to the 
scratch, wherever and whatever it was, and proving himself 
an ugly customer. He would go in and damage any subject 
whatever with his right, follow up with his left, stop, exchange, 
counter, bore his opponent (he always fought All England) to 
the ropes, and fall upon him neatly. He was certain to knock 
the wind out of common sense, and render that unlucky adver- 
sary deaf to the call of time. And he had it in charge from 
high authority to bring about the great public office Millen- 
nium, when Commissioners should reign upon earth. 

''Very well," said this gentleman, briskly smiling, and 
folding his arms. "That's a horse. Now, let me ask you girls 



308 CHABLES DICKENS 

and boys, Would you paper a room with representations of 
horses ? " 

After a pause, one half of the children cried in chorus, 
" Yes, Sir ! " Upon which the other half, seeing in the gen- 
tleman's face that i/es was wrong, cried out in chorus, "No, 
Sir ! " — as the custom is in these examinations. 

" Of course, no. Why wouldn't you? " 

A pause. One corpulent slow boy, with a wheezy manner 
of breathing, ventured the answer, because he wouldn't paper 
a room at all, but would paint it. 

*' You must paper it," said the gentleman, rather warmly. 

"You must paper it," said Thomas Gradgrind, "whether 
you like it or not. Don't tell us you wouldn't paper it. What 
do you mean, boy? " 

"I'll explain to you, then," said the gentleman, after another 
and a dismal pause, "why you wouldn't paper a room with 
representations of horses. Do you ever see horses walking up 
and down the sides of rooms in reality — in fact? Do you ? " 

" Yes, Sir ! " from one half. " No, Sir ! " from the other. 

" Of course, no," said the gentleman, with an indignant look 
at the wrong half. " Why, then, you are not to see anywhere 
what you don't see in fact ; you are not to have anywhere what 
you don't have in fact. What is called Taste is only another 
name for Fact." 

Thomas Gradgrind nodded his approbation. 

"This is a new principle, a discovery, a great discovery," 
said the gentleman. " Now, I'll try you again. Suppose you 
were going to carpet a room. Would you use a carpet having 
a representation of flowers upon it? " 

There being a general conviction by this time that "No, 
Sir ! " was always the right answer to this gentleman, the 
chorus of " No " was very strong. Only a few feeble strag- 
glers said " Yes " ; among them Sissy Jupe. 

" Girl Number Twenty," said the gentleman, smiling in the 
calm strength of knowledge. 

Sissy blushed, and stood up. 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 809 

'' So you would carpet your room — or your husband's room, 
if you were a grown woman, and had a husband — with repre- 
sentations of flowers, would you ? " said the gentleman. ''Why 
would you ? ' ' 

' ' If you please, Sir, I am very fond of flowers, ' ' returned 
the girl. 

' ' And is that why you would put tables and chairs upon 
them, and have people walking over them with heavy boots ? ' ' 

"It wouldn't hurt them. Sir. They wouldn't crush and 
wither, if you please. Sir. They would be the pictures of 
what was very pretty and pleasant, and I would fancy — ' ' 

''Ay, ay, ay! But you mustn't fancy," cried the gentle- 
man, quite elated by coming so happily to his point. " That's 
it ! You are never to fancy." 

"You are not, Cecilia Jupe," Thomas Gradgrind solemnly 
repeated, "to do anything of that kind." 

" Fact, fact, fact I " said the gentleman. And "Fact, fact, 
fact ! " repeated Thomas Gradgrind. 

"You are to be in all things regulated and governed," said 
the gentleman, "by fact. We hope to have, before long, a 
Board of Fact, composed of Commissioners of Fact, who will 
force the people to be a people of fact, and of nothing but 
fact. You must discard the word fancy altogether. You 
have nothing to do with it. You are not to have, in any 
object of use or ornament, what would be a contradiction m 
fact. You don't walk upon flowers in fact ; you cannot be 
allowed to walk upon flowers in carpets. You don't find that 
foreign birds and butterflies come and perch upon your crock- 
ery ; you cannot be permitted to paint foreign birds and but- 
terflies upon your crockery. You never meet with quadrupeds 
going up and down walls ; you must not have quadrupeds 
represented upon walls. You must use," said the gentle- 
man, "for all these purposes, combinations and modifications 
(in primary colors) of mathematical figures which are suscep- 
tible of proof and demonstration. This is the new discovery. 
This is fact. This is taste." 



310 CHARLES DICKENS 

The girl courtesied, and sat down. She was very young, 
and she looked as if she were frightened by the matter of fact 
prospect the world afforded. 

''Now, if Mr. M'Choakumchild," said the gentleman, "will 
proceed to give his first lesson here, Mr. Gradgrind, I shall be 
happy, at your request, to observe his mode of procedure." 

Mr. Gradgrind was much obliged. *' Mr. M'Choakumchild, 
we only wait for you. " 

So, Mr. M'Choakumchild began in his best manner. He and 
some one hundred and forty other schoolmasters had been lately 
turned at the same time, in the same factory, on the same prin- 
ciples, like so many pianoforte legs. He had been put through 
an immense variety of paces, and had answered volumes of 
head-breaking questions. Orthography, etymology, syntax, 
and prosody, biography, astronomy, geography, and general 
cosmography, the sciences of compound proportion, algebra, 
land surveying and leveling, vocal music, and drawing from 
models, were all at the ends of his ten chilled fingers. He had 
worked his stony way into Her Majesty's most Honorable Privy 
Council's Schedule B, and had taken the bloom off the higher 
branches of mathematics and physical science, French, German, 
Latin, and Greek. He knew all about all the watersheds of 
all the world (whatever they are), and all the histories of all 
the peoples, and all the names of all the rivers and mountains, 
and all the productions, manners, and customs of all the coun- 
tries, and all their boundaries and bearings on the two and 
thirty points of the compass. Ah, rather overdone, M'Choak- 
umchild. If he had only learnt a little less, how infinitely 
better he might have taught much more ! 

He went to work in this preparatory lesson, not unlike Mor- 
giana in the Forty Thieves : looking into all the vessels ranged 
before him, one after another, to see what they contained. 
Say, good M'Choakumchild, when, from thy boiling store, 
thou shalt fill each jar brim full by and by, dost thou think 
that thou wilt always kill outright the robber Fancy lurking 
within, or sometimes only maim him and distort him ? 



THE GBADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 311 



III. A Loophole 

Mr. Gradgrind walked homeward from the school in a state 
of considerable satisfaction. It was his school and he intended 
it to be a model. He intended every child in it to be a model 
— just as the young Gradgrinds were all models. 

There were five young Gradgrinds, and they were models, 
every one. They had been lectured at, from their tenderest 
years ; coursed, like little hares. Almost as soon as they could 
run alone, they had been made to run to the lecture room. 
The first object with which they had an association, or of 
which they had a remembrance, was a large blackboard with 
a dry ogre chalking ghastly white figures on it. 

Not that they knew, by name or nature, anything about an 
ogre. Fact forbid ! I only use the word to express a mon- 
ster in a lecturing castle, with Heaven-knows-how-many heads 
manipulated into one, taking childhood captive, and dragging 
it into gloomy statistical dens by the hair. 

No little Gradgrind had ever seen a face in the moon ; it 
was "up" in the moon before it could speak distinctly. No 
little Gradgrind had ever learnt the silly jingle, 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star ; 
How I wonder what you are ! 

No little Gradgrind had ever known Avonder on the subject, 
each little Gradgrind having at five years old dissected the 
Great Bear like a Professor Owen, and driven Charles's Wain 
like a locomotive engine driver. No little Gradgrind had 
ever associated a cow in a field with that famous — 

Cow with the crumpled horn, 
Who tossed the dog. 
Who worried the cat, 
W^ho killed the rat. 
Who ate the malt, 

or with that yet more famous cow who swallowed Tom 
Thumb ; it had never heard of those celebrities, and had only 



312 CHARLES DICKENS 

been introduced to a cow as a graminivorous ruminating 
quadruped with several stomachs. 

To his matter of fact home, which was called Stone Lodge, 
Mr. Gradgrind directed his steps. He had virtually retired 
from the wholesale hardware trade before he built Stone Lodge, 
and was now looking about for a suitable opportunity of mak- 
ing an arithmetical figure in Parliament. Stone Lodge was 
situated on a moor within a mile or two of a great town — 
called Coketown in the present faithful guide book. 

A very regular feature on the face of the country Stone 
Lodge was. Not the least disguise toned down or shaded off 
that uncompromising fact in the landscape. A great, square 
house, with a heavy portico darkening the principal windows, 
as its master's heavy brows overshadowed his eyes. A calcu- 
lated, cast-up, balanced, and proved house. Six windows on 
this side of the door, six on that side ; a total of twelve in this 
wing, a total of twelve in the other wing ; four-and-twenty 
carried over to the back wings. A lawn and garden and an 
infant avenue, all ruled straight like a botanical account book. 
Gas and ventilation, drainage and water service, all of the 
primest quality. Iron clamps and girders, fireproof from top 
to bottom ; mechanical lifts for the housemaids, with all their 
brushes and brooms ; everything that heart could desire. 

Everything? Well, I suppose so. The little Gradgrinds 
had cabinets in various departments of science, too. They had 
a little conchological cabinet, and a little metallurgical cabinet, 
and a little mineralogical cabinet ; and the specimens were all 
arranged and labeled, and the bits of stone and ore looked as 
though they might have been broken from the parent sub- 
stances by those tremendously hard instruments, their own 
names ; and, to paraphrase the idle legend of Peter Piper, who 
had never found his way into their nursery — if the greedy 
little Gradgrinds grasped at more than this, what was it for 
good gracious goodness' sake, that the greedy little Gradgrinds 
grasped at ! 

Their father walked on in a hopeful and satisfied frame of 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 313 

mind. He was an affectionate father, after his manner ; but 
he would probably have described himself (if he had been put, 
like Sissy Jupe, upon a definition) as ' ' an eminently practical ' ' 
father. He had a particular pride in the phrase eminently 
practical, which was considered to have a special application 
to him. Whatsoever the public meeting held in Coketown, 
and whatsoever the subject of such meeting, some Coketowner 
was sure to seize the occasion of alluding to his eminently prac- 
tical friend Gradgrind. This always pleased the eminently 
practical friend. He knew it to be his due, but his due was 
acceptable. 

He had reached the neutral ground upon the outskirts of the 
town, which was neither town nor country, and yet was either 
spoiled, when his ears were invaded by the sound of music. 
The clashing and banging band attached to the horse-riding 
establishment which had there set up its rest in a wooden pavil- 
ion was in full bray. A flag, floating from the summit of the 
temple, proclaimed to mankind that it was " Sleary's Horse- 
riding ' ' v/hich claimed their suffrages. Sleary himself, a stout 
modern statue with a money box at its elbow, in an ecclesias- 
tical niche of early Gothic architecture, took the money. Miss 
Josephine Sleary, as some very long and some very narrow 
strips of printed bill announced, was then inaugurating the 
entertainments with her graceful equestrian Tyrolean flower 
act. Among the other pleasing but always strictly moral 
wonders which must be seen to be believed, Signor Jupe was 
that afternoon to ' ' elucidate the diverting accomplishments of 
his highly trained performing dog Merrylegs." He was also 
to exhibit ' ' his astounding feat of throwing seventy-five hun- 
dredweight in rapid succession backhanded over his head, thus 
forming a fountain of solid iron in mid- air, a feat never before 
attempted in this or any other country, and which having 
elicited such rapturous plaudits from enthusiastic throngs it 
cannot be withdrawn." The same Signor Jupe was to '' enliven 
the varied performances at frequent intervals with his chaste 
Shakspearean quips and retorts." Lastly, he was to wind them 



314 CHARLES DICKENS 

up by appearing in his favorite character of Mr. William 
Button, of Tooley Street, in ''the highly novel and laughable 
hippo-comedietta of The Tailor's Journey to Brentford.^'' 

Thomas Gradgrind took no heed of these trivialities of course, 
but passed on as a practical man ought to pass on, either brush- 
ing the noisy insects from his thoughts, or consigning them to 
the House of Correction. But the turning of the road took 
him by the back of the booth, and at the back of the booth a 
number of children were congregated in a number of stealthy 
attitudes, striving to peep in at the hidden glories of the place. 

This brought him to a stop. " Now, to think of these vaga- 
bonds," said he, "attracting the young rabble from a model 
school. ' ' 

A space of stunted grass and dry rubbish being between him 
and the young rabble, he took his eyeglass out of his waistcoat 
to look for any child he knew by name, and might order off. 
Phenomenon almost incredible though distinctly seen, what 
did he then behold but his own metallurgical Louisa, peeping 
with all her might through a hole in a deal board, and his own 
mathematical Thomas abasing himself on the ground to catch 
but a hoof of the graceful equestrian Tyrolean flower act ! 

Dumb with amazement, ]Mr. Gradgrind crossed to the spot to 
where his family was thus disgraced, laid his hand upon each 
erring child, and said: 

" Louisa ! ! Thomas ! ! " 

Both rose, red and disconcerted. But Louisa looked at her 
father with more boldness than Thomas did. Indeed, Thomas 
did not look at him, but gave himself up to be taken home like 
a machine. 

"In the name of wonder, idleness, and folly," said Mr. 
Gradgrind, leading each away by the hand ; ' ' what do you do 
here?" 

"Wanted to see what it was like," returned Louisa, shortly. 

"What it was like?" 

"Yes, Father." 

There was an air of jaded sullenness in them both, and par- 



THE GEADGBIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 315 

ticularly in the girl; yet, struggling through the dissatisfaction 
of her face, there was a light with nothing to rest upon, a fire 
with nothing to burn, a starved imagination keeping life in 
itself somehow, which brightened its expression. Not with 
the brightness natural to cheerful youth, but with uncertain, 
eager, doubtful flashes, which had something painful in them, 
analogous to the changes on a blind face groping its way. 

She was a child, now, of fifteen or sixteen; but at no distant 
day would seem to become a woman all at once. Her father 
thought so, as he looked at her. She Avas pretty — would have 
been self-willed (he thought, in his eminently practical way), 
but for her bringing up. 

''Thomas, though I have the fact before me, I find it diffi- 
cult to believe that you, with your education and resources, 
should have brought your sister to a scene like this." 

' ' I brought Am, Father, ' ' said Louisa, quickly. ' ' I asked 
him to come." 

" I am sorry to hear it. I am very sorry indeed to hear 
it. It makes Thomas no better, and it makes you worse, 
Louisa." 

She looked at her father again, but no tear fell down her cheek. 

' ' You I Thomas and you, to whom the circle of the sciences 
is open; Thomas and you, who may be said to be replete with 
facts ; Thomas and you, who have been trained to mathemati- 
cal exactness ; Thomas and you, here I ' ' cried Mr. Gradgrind. 
'' In this degraded position ! I am amazed ! " 

''I was tired. Father. I have been tired a long time," said 
Louisa. 

' ' Tired ? Of what ? ' ' asked the astonished father. 

" I don't know of what — of everything, I think." 

''Say not another word, " returned Mr. Gradgrind. "You 
are childish. I will hear no more." He did not speak again 
until they had walked some half a mile in silence, when he 
gravely broke out with : " What would your best friends say, 
Louisa ? Do you attach no value to their good opinion ? What 
would Mr. Bounderby say ? " 



316 CHARLES DICKENS 

At the mention of this name, his daughter stole a look at 
him, remarkable for its intense and searching character. He 
saw nothing of it, for before he looked at her, she had again 
cast down her eyes ! 

"What," he repeated presently, "would Mr. Bounderby 
say ? " All the way to Stone Lodge, as with grave indignation 
he led the two delinquents home, he repeated at intervals, 
' ' What would Mr. Bounderby say ? " — as if Mr. Bounderby 
had been Mrs. Grundy. 

ly. Mr. Bounderby 

Not being Mrs. Grundy, who was Mr. Bounderby ? 

Why, Mr. Bounderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind's 
bosom friend, as a man perfectly devoid of sentiment can ap- 
proach that spiritual relationship towards another man per- 
fectly devoid of sentiment. So near was Mr. Bounderby — or, 
if the reader should prefer it, so far off. 

He was a rich man — banker, merchant, manufacturer, and 
what not. A big, loud man, with a stare, and a metallic laugh. 
A man made out of a coarse material, which seemed to have 
been stretched to make so much of him. A man Avith a great 
puffed head and forehead, swelled veins in his temples, and 
such a strained skin to his face that it seemed to hold his eyes 
open, and lift his eyebrows up. A man with a pervading ap- 
pearance on him of being inflated like a balloon, and' ready to 
start. A man who could never sufficiently vaunt himself a 
self-made man. A man who was always proclaiming, through 
that brassy speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his old igno- 
rance and his old poverty. A man who was the bully of 
humility. 

A year or two younger than his eminently practical friend, 
Mr. Bounderby looked older; his seven or eight and forty 
might have had the seven or eight added to it again, without 
surprising anybody. He had not much hair. One might have 
fancied he had talked it off ; and that what was left, all stand- 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 317 

ing up in disorder, was in that condition from being constantly 
blown about by his windy boast fulness. 

In the formal drawing-room of Stone Lodge, standing on the 
hearthrug, warming himself before the fire, Mr. Bounderby 
delivered some observations to Mrs. Gradgrind on the circum- 
stance of its being his birthday. He stood before the fire, 
partly because it was a cool spring afternoon, though the sun 
shone ; partly because the shade of Stone Lodge was always 
haunted by the ghost of damp mortar ; partly because he thus 
took up a commanding position, from which to subdue Mrs. 
Gradgrind. 

''I hadn't a shoe to my foot. As to a stocking, I didn't 
know such a thing by name. I passed the day in a ditch, and 
the night in a pigsty. That's the way I spent my tenth birth- 
day. Not that a ditch was new to me, for I was born in a 
ditch." 

Mrs. Gradgrind, a little, thin, white, pink-eyed bundle of 
shawls, of surpassing feebleness, mental and bodily, who was 
always taking physic without any effect, and who, Avhenever 
she showed a symptom of coming to life, was invariably stunned 
by some weighty piece of fact tumbling on her — Mrs. Gradgrind 
hoped it was a dry ditch ? 

'' No ! As wet as a sop. A foot of water in it," said Mr. 
Bounderby. 

"Enough to give a baby cold," Mrs. Gradgrind considered. 

'' Cold? I was born with inflammation of the lungs, and of 
everything else, I believe, that was capable of inflammation," 
returned Mr. Bounderby. ''For years,. ma' am, I was one of 
the most miserable little wretches ever seen. I was so sickly 
that I was always moaning and groaning. I was so ragged 
and dirty that you wouldn't have touched me with a pair of 
tongs." 

Mrs. Gradgrind faintly looked at the tongs, as the most 
appropriate thing her imbecility could think of doing. 

'' How I fought through it, /don't know," said Bounderby. 
''I was determined, I suppose. I have been a determined 



318 CHARLES DICKENS 

character in later life, and I suppose I was then. Here I am, 
Mrs. Gradgrind, anyhow, and nobody to thank for my being 
here, but myself." 

Mrs. Gradgrind meekly and weakly hoped that his mother — 

^^ My mother? Bolted, ma'am ! " said Bounderby. 

Mrs. Gradgrind, stunned as usual, collapsed and gave it up. 

" My mother left me to my grandmother, ' ' said Bounderby ; 
''and, according to the best of my remembrance, my grand- 
mother was the wickedest and the worst old woman that ever 
lived. If I got a little pair of shoes by any chance, she would 
take 'em off and sell 'em for drink. Why, I have known that 
grandmother of mine lie in her bed and drink her fourteen 
glasses of liquor before breakfast ! ' ' 

Mrs. Gradgrind, weakly smiling, and giving no other sign of 
vitality, looked (as she always did) like an indifferently exe- 
cuted transparency of a small female figure, without enough 
light behind it. 

"She kept a chandler's shop," pursued Bounderby, "and 
kept me in an Qgg box. That was the cot of my infancy ; an 
old Qgg box. As soon as I was big enough to run away, of 
course, I ran away. Then I became a young vagabond ; and 
instead of one old woman knocking me about and starving me, 
everybody of all ages knocked me about and starved me. They 
were right ; they had no business to do anything else. I was 
a nuisance, an incumbrance, and a pest. I know that very 
well." 

His pride in having at any tinie of his life achieved such a 
great social distinction as to be a nuisance, an incumbrance, 
and a pest, was only to be satisfied by three sonorous repe- 
titions of the boast. 

"I was to pull through it I suppose, Mrs. Gradgrind. 
Whether I was to do it or not, ma'am, I did it. I pulled 
through it, though nobody threw me out a rope. Vagabond, 
errand boy, vagabond, laborer, porter, clerk, chief manager, 
small partner, Josiah Bounderby of Coketown. Those are the 
antecedents, and the culmination. Josiah Bounderby of Coke- 



THE GRADGBIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 319 

town learnt his letters from the outsides of the shops, Mrs. 
Gradgrind, and was first able to tell the time upon a dial- 
plate, from studying the steeple clock of St. Giles's Church, 
London, under the direction of a drunken cripple, who was a 
convicted thief, and an incorrigible vagrant. Tell Josiah 
Bounderby of Coketown, of your district schools and your 
model schools, and your training schools, and your whole 
kettle-of-fish of schools ; and Josiah Bounderby of Coketown 
tells you plainly, all right, all correct — he hadn't such advan- 
tages — but let us have hard-headed, solid-fisted people — the 
education that made him won't do for everybody, he knows 
well — such and such his education was, however, and you 
may force him to swallow boiling fat, but you shall never 
force him to suppress the facts of his life." 

Being heated when he arrived at this climax, Josiah Boun- 
derby of Coketown stopped. He stopped just as his eminently 
practical friend, still accompanied by the two young culprits, 
entered the room. His eminently practical friend, on seeing 
him, stopped also, and gave Louisa a reproachful look that 
plainly said, " Behold your Bounderby ! " 

"Well!" blustered Mr. Bounderby, "what's the matter? 
What is young Thomas in the dumps about ? ' ' 

He spoke of young Thomas, but he looked at Louisa. 

' ' We were peeping at the circus, ' ' muttered Louisa, 
haughtily, without lifting up her eyes, " and Father caught us." 

"And Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband in a lofty manner, 
" I should as soon have expected to find my children reading 
poetry." 

" Dear me," whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind. " How can you, 
Louisa and Thomas ! I wonder at you. I declare you're 
enough to make one regret ever having had a family at all. I 
have a great mind to say I wish I hadn't. Then what would 
you have done, I should like to know. ' ' 

Mr. Gradgrind did not seem favorably impressed by these 
cogent remarks. He frowned impatiently. 

"As if, with my head in its present throbbing state, you 



320 • CHARLES DICKENS 

couldn't go and look at the shells and minerals and things pro- 
vided for you, instead of circuses ! " said Mrs. Gradgrind. 
' ' You know as well as I do, no young people have circus 
masters, or keep circuses in cabinets, or attend lectures about 
circuses. What can you possibly want to know of circuses, 
then ? I am sure you have enough to do, if that's what you 
want. With my head in its present state, I couldn't remember 
the mere names of half the facts you have got to attend to." 

'' That's the reason ! " pouted Louisa. 

*' Don't tell me that's the reason, because it can be nothing 
of the sort," said Mrs. Gradgrind. ''Go and be something 
ological, directly." Mrs. Gradgrind was not a scientific char- 
acter, and usually dismissed her children to their studies with 
this general injunction to choose their pursuit. 

In truth, Mrs. Gradgrind's stock of facts in general was 
woefully defective ; but Mr. Gradgrind, in raising her to her 
high matrimonial position, had been influenced by two reasons. 
Firstly, she was most satisfactory as a question of figures ; 
and, secondly, she had "no nonsense" about her. By nonsense 
he meant fancy ; and truly it is probable she was as free from 
any alloy of that nature as any human being not arrived at 
the perfection of an absolute idiot ever was. 

The simple circumstance of being left alone with her husband 
and Mr. Bounderby, was sufficient to stun this admirable lady 
again, without collision between herself and any other fact. So, 
she once more died away, and nobody minded her. 

''Bounderby," said Mr. Gradgrind, drawing a chair to the 
fireside, "you are always so interested in my young people — ■ 
particularly in Louisa — that I make no apology for saying to 
you, I am very much vexed by this discovery. I have syste- 
matically devoted myself (as you know) to the education of 
the reason of my family. The reason is (as you know) the 
only faculty to which education should be addressed. And 
yet, Bounderby, it would appear from this unexpected circum- 
stance of to-day, though in itself a trifling one, as if something 
had crept into Thomas's and Louisa's minds which is — or 



THE GRABGBINI) SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 321 

rather, which is not — I don't know that I can express myself 
better than by saying — which has never been intended to be 
developed, and in which their reason has no part." 

*■ ' There certainly is no reason in looking with interest at a 
parcel of vagabonds," returned Bounderby. "When I was a 
vagabond myself, nobody looked with any interest at me; I 
know that. ' ' 

"Then comes the question," said the eminently practical 
father, with his eyes on the fire, "in what has this vulgar 
curiosity its rise ? " 

" I'll tell you in what. In idle imagination." 

"I hope not," said the eminently practical; "I confess, 
however, that the misgiving has crossed me on my way home." 

"In idle imagination, Gradgrind," repeated Bounderby. 
' ' A very bad thing for anybody, but a cursed bad thing for a 
girl like Louisa. I should ask Mrs. Gradgrind' s pardon for 
strong expressions, but that she knows very well I am not a 
refined character. Whoever expects refinement in me will be 
disappointed. I hadn't a refined bringing up." 

" Whether," said Mr. Gradgrind, pondering with his hands 
in his pockets, and his cavernous eyes on the fire, "whether 
any instructor or servant can have suggested anything ? 
Whether Louisa or Thomas can have been reading anything ? 
Whether, in spite of all precautions, any idle story book can 
have got into the house ? Because, in minds that have been 
practically formed by rule and line, from the cradle upwards, 
this is so curious, so incomprehensible." 

" Stop a bit ! " cried Bounderby, who all this time had been 
standing, as before, on the hearth, bursting at the very furni- 
ture of the room with explosive humility. "You have one of 
those stroller's children in the school." 

"Cecilia Jupe, by name," said Mr. Gradgrind, with some- 
thing of a stricken look at his friend. 

"Now, stop a bit!" cried Bounderby again. "How did 
she come there ? ' ' 

'• Wh3% the fact is, T saw the girl m3^self, for the first time, 

SCH. IX C03I. — 21 



322 CHARLES DICKENS 

only just now. She specially applied here at the house to be 
admitted, as not regularly belonging to our town, and — yes, 
you are right, Bounderby, you are right." 

'' Now, stop a bit ! " cried Bounderby, once more. '' Louisa 
saw her when she came ? " 

"Louisa certainly did see her, for she mentioned the appli- 
cation to me. But Louisa saw her, I have no doubt, in Mrs. 
Gradgrind's presence." 

'* Pray, Mrs. Gradgrind," said Bounderby, " what passed ? " 

"Oh, my poor health! " returned Mrs. Gradgrind. " The 
girl wanted to come to the school, and Mr. Gradgrind wanted 
girls to come to the school, and Louisa and Thomas both said 
that the girl wanted to come, and that Mr. Gradgrind wanted 
girls to come, and how was it possible to contradict them when 
such was the fact ! ' ' 

"Now I tell you what, Gradgrind! " said Mr. Bounderby. 
" Turn this girl to the right about, and there's an end of it." 

" I am much of your opinion." 

''Do it at oncg," said Bounderby, "has always been my 
motto from a child. When I thought I would run away from 
my Qgg box and my grandmother, I did it at once. Do you 
the same. Do this at once ! " 

"Are you walking?" asked his friend. "I have the 
father's address. Perhaps you would not mind walking to 
town with me ! " 

"Not the least in the world," said Mr. Bounderby, "as 
long as you do it at once ! " " 

So, Mr. Bounderby threw on his hat — he always threw it 
on, as expressing a man who had been far too busily employed 
in making himself, to acquire any fashion of wearing his hat — 
and with his hands in his pockets, sauntered out into the hall. 
"I never wear gloves," it was his custom to say. "I didn't 
climb up the ladder in them. Shouldn't be so high up, if I 
had." 

Being left to saunter in the hall a minute or two while Mr. 
Gradgrind went upstairs for the address, he opened the door 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 323 

of the children's study and looked into that serene floor-clothed 
apartment, wliich, notwithstanding its bookcases and its cabi- 
nets and its variety of learned and philosophical appliances, 
had much of the genial aspect of a room devoted to hair cut- 
ting. Louisa languidly leaned upon the window looking out, 
without looking at anything, while young Thomas stood snif- 
fing revengefully at the fire. Adam Smith and Malthus, two 
younger Gradgrinds, were out at lecture in custody ; and little 
Jane, after manufacturing a good deal of moist pipe clay on her 
face with slate pencil and tears, had fallen asleep over vulgar 
fractions. 

'' It's all right now, Louisa; it's all right, young Thomas," 
said Mr. Bounderby, "you won't do so any more. I'll 
answer for its being all over with Father. Well, Louisa, 
that's worth a kiss, isn't it ? " 

" You can take one, Mr. Bounderby," returned Louisa, 
when she had coldly paused, and slowly walked across the 
room, and ungraciously raised her cheek towards him, with 
her face turned away. 

" Always my pet ; ain't you, Louisa ? " said Mr. Bounderby. 
" Good-by, Louisa ! " 

He went his way, but she stood on the same spot, rubbing 
the cheek he had kissed, Avith her handkerchief, until it was 
burning red. She was still doing this, five minutes after- 
wards. 

''What are you about. Loo?" her brother sulkily remon- 
strated. " You'll rub a hole in your face." 

" You may cut the piece out with your penknife if you like, 
Tom. I wouldn't cry ! " 

V. The Keynote 

Coketown, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind 
now walked, was a triumph of fact ; it had no greater taint of 
fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the 
keynote, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. 



324 CHARLES DICKENS 

It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been 
red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it ; but as matters stood 
it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face 
of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out 
of Avhich interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for 
ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal 
in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and 
vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rat- 
tling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the 
steam engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head 
of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained 
several large streets all very like one another, and many 
small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people 
equally like one other, who all went in and out at the same 
hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do 
the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yes- 
terday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the 
last and the next. 

These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable 
from the work by which it was sustained ; against them were 
to be set off comforts of life which found their way all over 
the world and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask 
how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the 
place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and 
they were these. 

You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely work- 
ful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel 
there — as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had 
done — they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with some- 
times (but this is only in highly ornamented examples) a bell in 
a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the 
New Church ; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the 
door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden 
legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted 
alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might 
have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the 



rnE GRADGIUND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 825 

jail, the townhall might have been either, or both, or anything 
else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of 
their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the mate- 
rial aspect of the town ; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the 
immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and 
the school of design was all fact, and the relations between 
master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between 
the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't 
state in figures, or show to be purchasable in the cheapest 
market and salable in the dearest, was not, and never should 
be, world without end. Amen. 

A town so sacred to fact, and so triumphant in its assertion, of 
course got on well ? Why no, not quite well. No ? Dear me ! 

No. Coketown did not come out of its own furnaces, in all 
respects like gold that had stood the fire. First, the perplex- 
ing mystery of the place Avas, Who belonged to the eighteen 
denominations? Because, whoever did, the laboring people 
did not. It was very strange to walk through the streets on 
a Sunday morning, and note how few of them the barbarous 
jangling of bells, that was driving the sick and nervous mad, 
called away from their own quarter, from their own close 
rooms, from the corners of their own streets, where they 
lounged listlessly, gazing at all the church and chapel going, 
as at a thing with which they had no manner of concern. Nor 
was it merely the stranger who noticed this, because there w^as 
a native organization in Coketown itself, whose members were 
to be heard of in the House of Commons every session, indig- 
nantly petitioning for acts of parliament that should make 
these people religious by main force. Then came the Teetotal 
Society, who complained that these same people would get 
drunk, and showed in tabular statements that they did get 
drunk, and proved at tea parties that no inducement, human 
or divine (except a medal), would induce them to forego their 
custom of getting drunk. Then came the chemist and drug- 
gist, with other tabular statements, showing that when they 
didn't get drunk, they took opium. Then came the experi- 



326 CHABLES DICKENS 

enced chaplain of the jail, with more tabular statements, out- 
doing all the previous tabular statements, and showing that 
the same people ivould resort to low haunts, hidden from the 
public eye, where they heard low singing and saw low dancing, 
and mayhap joined in it; and where A. B., aged twenty-four 
next birthday, and committed for eighteen months' solitary, 
had himself said (not that he had ever shown himself particu- 
larly worthy of belief) his ruin began, as he was perfectly sure 
and confident that otherwise he would have been a tiptop 
moral specimen. Then came Mr. Gradgrind and Mr. Bound- 
erby, the two gentlemen at this present moment walking through 
Coketown, and both eminently practical, who could, on occa- 
sion, furnish more tabular statements derived from their own 
personal experience, and illustrated by cases they had known 
and seen, from which it clearly appeared — in short, it was the 
only clear thing in the case — that these same people were a bad 
lot altogether, gentlemen ; that do what you would for them 
they were never thankful for it, gentlemen; that they were 
restless, gentlemen ; that they never knew what they wanted ; 
that they lived upon the best, and bought fresh butter; and 
insisted on Mocha coffee, and rejected all but prime parts of 
meat, and yet were eternally dissatisfied and unmanageable. 
In short, it was the moral of the old nursery fable : 

There lived an old woman, and what do you think? 
She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink ; 
Victuals and drink were the whole of her diet, 
And yet this old woman would never be quiet. 

Is it possible, I wonder, that there was any analogy between 
the case of the Coketown population and the case of the little 
Gradgrinds? Surely none of us in our sober senses and ac- 
quainted with figures, are to be told at this time of day, that 
one of the foremost elements in the existence of the Coketown 
working people had been for scores of years deliberately set at 
naught ; that there was any Fancy in them demanding to be 
brought into healthy existence instead of struggling on in con- 



THE GRABGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 327 

vulsions ; that exactly in the ratio as they worked long and 
monotonously, the cravings grew within them for some physical 
relief — some relaxation, encouraging good humor and good 
spirits, and giving them a vent — some recognized holiday, 
though it were but for an honest dance to a stirring band of 
music — some occasional light pie in which even M'Choakum- 
child had no finger — which craving must and would be satis- 
fied aright, or must and would inevitably go wrong, until the 
laws of the Creation were repealed ? 

" This man lives at Pod's End, and I don't quite know Pod's 
End," said Mr. Gradgrind. '' Which is it, Bounderby ? " 

Mr. Bounderby knew it was somewhere down town, but 
knew no more respecting it. So they stopped for a moment, 
looking about. 

Almost as they did so, there came running round the corner 
of the street at a quick pace and with a frightened look, a girl 
whom Mr. Gradgrind recognized. ''Halloa!" said he. 
" Stop ! Where are you going ? Stop I " Girl Number 
Twenty stopped then, palpitating, and made him a courtesy. 

"Why are you tearing about the streets," said Mr. Grad- 
grind, " in this improper manner ? " 

" I was — I was run after. Sir," the girl panted, " and I 
wanted to get away." 

''Run after?" repeated Mr. Gradgrind. "Who would run 
after you ? ' ' 

The question was unexpectedly and suddenly answered for 
her, by the colorless boy, Bitzer, who came round the corner 
with such blind speed and so little anticipating a stoppage on 
the pavement, that he brought himself up against Mr. Grad- 
grind' s waistcoat and rebounded into the road. 

" What do you mean, boy ? " said Mr. Gradgrind. " What 
are you doing ? How dare you dash against — everybody — in 
this manner ? ' ' 

Bitzer picked up his cap, which the concussion had knocked 
off ; and backing, and knuckling his forehead, pleaded that it 
was an accident. 



328 CHABLES DICKENS 

" Was this boy running after you, Jupe ? " asked Mr, Grad- 
grind. 

" Yes, Sir," said the girl reluctantly. 

'' No, I wasn't. Sir ! " cried Bitzer. " Not till she run away 
from me. But the horse riders never mind what they say, Sir ; 
they're famous for it. You know the horse riders are famous 
for never minding what they say," addressing Sissy. " It's as 
well known in the towns as — please. Sir, as the multiplica- 
tion table isn't known to the horse riders." Bitzer tried Mr. 
Bounderby with this. 

" He frightened me so," said the girl, " with his cruel 
faces ! " 

" Oh ! " cried Bitzer. " Oh ! An't you one of the rest ! 
An't you a horse rider ! I never looked at her. Sir. I asked 
her if she would know how to define a horse to-morrow, and 
offered to tell her again, and she ran away, and I ran after her, 
Sir, that she might know how to answer when she was asked. 
You wouldn't have thought of saying such mischief if you 
hadn't been a liorse rider ? " 

" Her calling seems to be pretty well known among 'em," 
observed Mr. Bounderby. " You'd have had the whole school 
peeping in a row, in a week." 

"Truly, I think so," returned his friend. "Bitzer, turn 
you about and take yourself home. Jupe, stay here a moment. 
Let me hear of your running in this manner any more, boy, and 
you will hear of me through the master of the school. You 
understand what I mean. Go along." 

The boy stopped in his rapid blinking, knuckled his forehead 
again, glanced at Sissy, turned about, and retreated. 

" Now, girl," said Mr. Gradgrind, " take this gentleman and 
me to your father's ; we are going there. What have you got 
in that bottle you are carrying ? " 

" Gin," said Mr. Bounderby. 

"Dear, no. Sir ! It's the nine oils." 

" The what ? " cried Mr. Bounderby. 

"The nine oils, Sir. To rub Father with." Then, said Mr. 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 829 

Bounclerby, with a loud, short laugh, ' ' What the D — 1 do 
you rub your father with nine oils for ? ' ' 

"It's what our people always use, Sir, when they get any 
hurts in the ring," replied the girl, looking over her shoulder, 
to assure herself that her pursuer was gone. '' They bruise 
themselves very bad sometimes." 

" Serve 'em right," said Mr. Bounderby, " for being idle." 
She glanced up at his face, with mingled astonishment and 
dread. 

"By George ! " said Mr. Bounderby. ♦ " When I was four or 
five years younger than you, I had worse bruises upon me than 
ten oils, twenty oils, forty oils would have rubbed off. I didn't 
get 'em by posture making, but by being banged about. There 
was no ropedancing for me ; I danced on the bare ground and 
was larruped with the rope." 

Mr. Gradgrind, though hard enough, was by no means so 
rough a man as Mr. Bounderby. His character was not un- 
kind, all things considered ; it might have been a very kind 
one indeed, if he had only made some round mistake in the 
arithmetic that balanced it, years ago. He said, in what he 
meant for a reassuring tone, as they turned down a narrow 
road, "And this is Pod's End ; is it, Jupe ? " 

" This is it. Sir, and — if you wouldn't mind. Sir — this is 
the house." 

She stopped, at twilight, at the door of a mean little public 
house, with dim red lights in it — as haggard and as shabby, 
as if, for want of custom, it had itself taken to drinking, and 
had gone the way all drunkards go, and was very near the end 
of it. 

''It's only crossing the bar. Sir, and up the stairs, if you 
wouldn't mind, and waiting there for a moment till I get a 
candle. If you should hear a dog, Sir, it's only Merrylegs, and 
he only barks." 

" Merrylegs and nine oils, eh ! " said Mr. Bounderby, enter- 
ing last with his metallic laugh. " Pretty well this, for a self- 
made man I " 



330 CHARLES DICKENS 



VI. Sleaey's Horsemanship 

The name of the public house was the Pegasus 's Arms. The 
Pegasus 's legs might have been more to the purpose ; but, 
underneath the winged horse upon the signboard, " The Peg- 
asus's Arms " was inscribed in Roman letters. Beneath that 
inscription again, in a flowing scroll, the painter had touched 
off the lines : 

Good malt makes good beer, 

"Walk in, and they'll draw it here : 

Good wine makes good brandy, 

Give us a call, and you'll find it handy. 

Framed and glazed upon the wall behind the dingy little 
bar, was another Pegasus — a theatrical one ■ — with real gauze 
let in for his wings, golden stars stuck on all over him, and his 
ethereal harness made of red silk. 

As it had grown too dusky without to see the sign, and as 
it had not grown light enough within to see the picture, Mr. 
Gradgrind and Mr. Bounderby received no offense from these 
idealities. They followed the girl up some steep corner stairs 
without meeting any one, and stopped in the dark while she 
went on for a candle. They expected every moment to hear 
Merrylegs give tongue, but the highly trained performing 
dog had not barked when the girl and the candle appeared 
together. 

'' Father is not in our room,- Sir," she said, with a face of 
great surprise. "If you wouldn't mind walking in, I'll find 
him directly." 

They walked in ; and Sissy, having set two chairs for them, 
sped away with a quick light step. It was a mean, shabbily- 
furnished room, with a bed in it. The white nightcap, embel- 
lished with two peacock's feathers and a pigtail bolt upright, 
in which Signor Jupe had that very afternoon enlivened the 
varied performances with his chaste Shakspearean quips and 
retorts, hung upon a nail ; but no other portion of his ward- 



THE GliADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 331 

robe, or other token of himself or his pursuits, was to be seen 
anywhere. As to Merrylegs, that respectable ancestor of the 
highly trained animal who went aboard the Ark might have 
been accidentally shut out of it, for any sign of a dog that was 
manifest to eye or ear in the Pegasus' s Arms. 

They heard the doors of rooms above, opening and shutting 
as Sissy went from one to another in quest of her father ; and 
presently they heard voices expressing surprise. She came 
bounding down again in a great hurry, opened a battered and 
mangy old hair trunk, found it empty, and looked round with 
her hands clasped and her face full of terror. 

''Father must have gone down to the Booth, sir. I don't 
know why he should go there, but he must be there ; I'll bring 
him in a minute ! " She was gone directly, without her bon- 
net ; with her long, dark, childish hair streaming behind 
her. 

"What does she mean?" said Mr. Gradgrind. " Back in 
a minute ? It's more than a mile off." 

Before Mr. Bounderby could reply, a young man appeared 
at the door, and introducing himself with the words, ' ' By your 
leaves, gentlemen ! " walked in with his hands in his pockets. 
His face, close-shaven, thin, and sallow, was shaded by a great 
quantity of dark hair, brushed into a roll all round his head, 
and parted up the center. His legs were very robust, but 
shorter than legs of good proportions should have been. His 
chest and back were as much too broad, as his legs were too 
short. He was dressed in a Newmarket coat and tight-fitting 
trousers ; wore a shawl round his neck ; smelt of lamp oil, 
straw, orange peel, horses' provender, and sawdust ; and 
looked a most remarkable sort of Centaur, compounded of the 
stable and the playhouse. Where the one began, and the other 
ended, nobody could have told with any precision. This gen- 
tleman was mentioned in the bills of the day as Mr. E. W. B. 
Childers, so justly celebrated for his daring vaulting act as the 
Wild Huntsman of the North American Prairies ; in which pop- 
ular performxance, a diminutive boy with an old face, who now 



332 CHARLES DICKENS 

accompanied him, assisted as his infant son — being carried 
upside down over his father's shoulder, by one foot, and held 
by the crown of his head, heels upwards, in the palm of his 
father's hand, according to the violent paternal manner in 
which wild huntsmen may be observed to fondle their off- 
spring. Made up with curls, wreaths, wings, white bismuth, 
and carmine, this hopeful young person soared into so pleasing 
a Cupid as to constitute the chief delight of the maternal part 
of the spectators ; but in private, where his characteristics were 
a precocious cutaway coat and an extremely gruff voice, he 
became of the turf, turfy. 

"By your leaves, gentlemen," said Mr. E. W. B. Childers, 
glancing round the room. '' It was you, I believe, that were 
wishing to see Jupe ? ' ' 

" It was," said Mr. Gradgrind. " His daughter has gone to 
fetch him, but I can't wait ; therefore, if you please, I will 
leave a message for him with you." 

'' You see, my friend," Mr. Bounderby put in, " we are the 
kind of people who know the value of time, and you are the 
kind of people who don't know the value of time." 

''I have not," retorted Mr. Childers, after surveying him 
from head to foot, "the honor of knowing i/ou, — but if you 
mean that you can make more money of your time than I can 
of mine, I should judge from your appearance that you are 
about right." 

' ' And when you have made it, you can keep it too, I should 
think," said Cupid. 

"Kidderminster, stow that!" said Mr. Childers. (Master 
Kidderminster was Cupid's mortal name.) 

"What does he come here cheeking us for, then?" cried 
Master Kidderminster, showing a very irascible temperament. 
" If you want to cheek us, pay your ocher at the doors and 
take it out." 

" Kidderminster," said Mr. Childers, raising his voice, 
"stow that! Sir," to Mr. Gradgrind, "I was addressing 
myself to you. You may or you may not be aware (for per= 



TUE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 333 

haps you have not been much in the audience), that Jupe has 
missed his tip very often, lately." 

''Has — What has he missed?" asked Mr. Gradgrind, 
glancing at the potent Bounderby for assistance. 

''Missed his tip." 

' ' Offered at the Garters four times last night, and never 
done 'em once," said Master Kidderminster. " Missed his tip 
at the banners, too, and was loose in his ponging." 

"Didn't do what he ought to do. Was short in his leaps 
and bad in his tumbling," Mr. Childers interpreted. 

" Oh ! " said Mr. Gradgrind, "that is tip, is it ? " 

" In a general way that's missing his tip," Mr. E. W. B. 
Childers answered. 

"Nine oils, Merrylegs, missing tips, garters, banners, and 
ponging, eh ! " ejaculated Bounderby, with his laugh of 
laughs. "Queer sort of company, too, for a man who has 
raised himself." 

"Lower yourself, then," retorted Cupid. "Oh Lord! if 
you've raised yourself so high as all that comes to, let your- 
self down a bit." 

" This is a very obtrusive lad ! " said Mr. Gradgrind, turn- 
ing, and knitting his brows on him. 

" We'd have had a young gentleman to meet you, if we had 
known you were coming," retorted Master Kidderminster, 
nothing abashed. " It's a pity you don't have a bespeak, being 
so particular. You're on the Tight- Jeff, ain't you ? " 

" What does this unmannerly boy mean," said Mr. Grad- 
grind, eyeing him in a sort of desperation, "by Tight- Jeff? " 

"There ! Get out, get out ! " said Mr. Childers, thrusting 
his young friend from the room, rather in the prairie manner. 
" Tight-Jeff or Slack-Jeff, it don't much signify. It's only 
tight rope and slack rope. You were going to give me a 
message for Jupe ? ' ' 

"Yes, I was." 

"Then," continued Mr. Childers, quickly, "my opinion is, 
he will never receive it. Do you know much of him ? ' ' 



334 CHARLES DICKENS 

'''• I never saw the man in my life." 

*' I doubt if you ever will see him now. It's pretty plain to 
me, he's off." 

" Do you mean that he has deserted his daughter ? " 

"Ay! I mean," said Mr. Childers, with a nod, "that he 
has cut. He was goosed last night, he was goosed the night 
before last, he was goosed to-day. He has lately got in the 
way of being always goosed, and he can't stand it. ' ' 

" Why has he been — so very much — goosed ? " asked Mr. 
Gradgrind, forcing the word out of him, with great solemnity 
and reluctance. 

"His joints are turning stiff, and he is getting used up," 
said Childers. "He has his points as a cackler still, but he 
can't get a living out of them. ' ' 

"A cackler ! " Bounderby repeated. " Here we go again ! " 

"A speaker, if the gentleman likes it better," said Mr. E. 
W. B. Childers, superciliously throwing the interpretation 
over his shoulder, and accompanying it with a shake of his 
long hair — which all shook at once. " Now, it's a remarkable 
fact. Sir, that it cut that man deeper to know that his daughter 
knew of his being goosed, than to go through with it." 

"Good!" interrupted Mr. Bounderby. "This is good, 
Gradgrind ! A man so fond of his daughter, that he runs 
away from her ! This is devilish good I Ha ! ha ! Now, I'll 
tell you what, young man. I haven't always occupied my 
present station of life. I know what these things are. You 
may be astonished to hear it, but my mother ran away from 
me.'' 

E. W. B. Childers replied pointedly, that he was not at all 
astonished to hear it. 

"Very well," said Bounderby. "I was born in a ditch, 
and my mother ran away from me. Do I excuse her for it ? 
No. Have I ever excused her for it ? Not I. What do I call 
her for it ? I call her probably the very worst woman that 
ever lived in the world, except my drunken grandmother. 
There's no family pride about me, there's no imaginative 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 335 

sentimental humbug about me. I call a spade a spade ; and 
I call the mother of Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, without 
any fear or any favor, what I should call her if she had been 
the mother of Dick Jones of Wapping. So with this man. 
He is a runaway rogue and a vagabond, that's what he is, in 
English." 

"It's all the same to me what he is or what he is not, 
whether in English or whether in French," retorted Mr. E. 
W. B. Childers, facing about. ''I am telling your friend 
what's the fact ; if you don't like to hear it, you can avail 
yourself of the open air. You give it mouth enough, you do ; 
but give it mouth in your own building, at least, ' ' remonstrated 
E. W. B. with stern irony. ''Don't give it mouth in this 
building, till you're called upon. You have got some building 
of your own, I dare say, now ? ' ' 

" Perhaps so," replied Mr. Bounderby, rattling his money 
and laughing. 

' ' Then give it mouth in your own building, will you, if you 
please?" said Childers. ''Because this isn't a strong build- 
ing, and too much of you might bring it down ! " 

Eyeing Mr. Bounderby from head to foot again, he turned 
from him, as from a man finally disposed of, to Mr. Gradgrind. 

" Jupe sent his daughter out on an errand not an hour ago, 
and then was seen to slip out himself, mth his hat over his 
eyes, and a bundle tied up in a handkerchief under his arm. 
She will never believe it of him, but he has cut away and left 
her. 

' ' Pray, ' ' said Mr. Gradgrind, ' ' why will she never believe 
it of him?" 

" Because those two were one. Because they were never 
asunder. Because, up to this time, he seemed to dote upon 
her," said Childers, taking a step or two to look into the 
empty trunk. Both Mr. Childers and Master Kidderminster 
walked in a curious manner ; with their legs wider apart than 
the general run of men, and with a very knowing assumption 
of being stiff in the knees. This walk was common to all the 



336 CHABLES BICKENS 

male members of Sleary's company, and Avas understood to 
express that they were always on horseback. 

"Poor Sissy! He had better have apprenticed her," said 
Childers, giving his hair another shake, as he looked up from 
the empty box. ''Now he leaves her without anything to 
take to." 

''It is creditable to you, who have never been apprenticed, 
to express that opinion," returned Gradgrind approvingly. 

' ' I never apprenticed ? I was apprenticed when I was 
seven year old." 

"Oh! Indeed?" said Mr. Gradgrind, rather resentfully, 
as having been defrauded of his good opinion. "I was not 
aware of its being the custom to apprentice young persons 
to — " 

"Idleness," Mr. Bounderby put in with a loud laugh. 
" No, by the Lord Harry ! Nor I ! " 

' ' Her father always had it in his head, ' ' resumed Childers, 
feigning unconsciousness of Mr. Bounderby' s existence, "that 
she was to be taught the deuce-and-all of education. How it 
got into his head, I can't say : I can only say that it never got 
out. He has been picking up a bit of reading for her, here — 
and a bit of writing for her, there — and a bit of ciphering for 
her, somewhere else — these seven years." 

Mr. E. W. B. Childers took one of his hands out of his 
pockets, stroked his face and chin, and looked, with a good 
deal of doubt and a little hope, at Mr. Gradgrind. From the 
first he had sought to conciliate " that gentleman, for the sake 
of the deserted girl. 

"When Sissy got into the school here, " he pursued, "her 
father was as pleased as Punch. I couldn't altogether make 
out Avhy, myself, as we were not stationary here, being but 
comers and goers anywhere. I suppose, however, he had this 
move in his mind — he was always half-cracked — and then 
considered her provided for. If you should happen to have 
looked in to-night, for tae purpose of telling him that you 
were going to do her any little service," said Mr. Childers, 



THE GBADGBIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 337 

stroking his face again, and repeating his look, "it would 
be very fortunate and Avell-timed ; ve7'i/ fortunate and well- 
timed." 

"On the contrary," returned Mr. Gradgrind. "I came to 
tell him that her connections made her not an object for the 
school, and that she must not attend any more. Still, if her 
father really has left her, without any connivance on her part 
— Bounderby, let me have a word with you. ' ' 

Upon this, Mr. Childers politely betook himself, with his 
equestrian walk, to the landing outside the door, and there 
stood stroking his face, and softly whistling. While thus 
engaged, he overheard such phrases in Mr. Bounderby's voice 
as "No, / say no. I advise you not. I say, by no means." 
While, from Mr. Gradgrind, he heard in his much lower tone 
the words, "But even as an example to Louisa, of what this 
pursuit which has been the subject of a vulgar curiosity leads 
to and ends in. Think of it, Bounderby, in that point of 
view. ' ' 

Meanwhile, the various members of Sleary's company gradu- 
ally gathered together from the upper regions, where they 
were quartered, and, from standing about, talking in low 
voices to one another and to Mr. Childers, gradually insinuated 
themselves and him into the room. There were tAvo or three 
handsome young women among them, with their two or three 
husbands, and their two or three mothers, and their eight or 
nine little children, who did the fairy business when required. 
The father of one of the families was in the habit of balanc- 
ing the father of another of the families on the top of a great 
pole ; the father of a third family often made a pyramid of both 
those fathers, with ^Master Kidderminster for the apex, and him- 
self for the base ; all the fathers could dance upon rolling casks, 
stand upon bottles, catch knives and balls, twirl hand basins, 
ride upon anything, jump over everything, and stick at noth- 
ing. All the mothers could (and did) dance upon the slack 
Avire and the tight rope, and perform rapid acts on barebacked 
steeds ; none of them were at all particular in respect of shoAV- 

SCH. IN COM. 22 



338 CHARLES DICKENS 

ing their legs ; and one of them, alone in a Greek chariot, 
drove six in hand into every town they came to. They all 
assumed to be mighty rakish and knowing, they were not very 
tidy in their private dresses, they were not at all orderly in 
their domestic arrangements, and the combined literature of 
the whole company would have produced but a poor letter 
on any subject. Yet there was a remarkable gentleness and 
childishness about these people, a special inaptitude for any 
kind of sharp practice, and an untiring readiness to help and 
pity one another, deserving often of as much respect, and 
always of as much generous construction, as the everyday 
virtues of any class of people in the world. Last of all 
appeared Mr. Sleary : a stout man as already mentioned, with 
one fixed eye, and one loose eye, a voice (if it can be called so) 
like the efforts of a broken old pair of bellows, a flabby surface, 
and a muddled head, which was never sober and never drunk. 

'' Thquire ! " said Mr. Sleary, who was troubled with asthma, 
and whose breath came far too thick and heavy for the letter i", 
' ' Your thervant ! Thith ith a bad pieth of bithnith, thith ith. 
You've heard of my Clown and hith dog being thuppothed to 
have morrithed ? ' ' 

He addressed Mr. Gradgrind, who answered " Yes." 

"Well, Thquire," he returned, taking off his hat and 
rubbing the lining with his pocket handkerchief, which he 
kept inside for the purpose. " Ith it your intenthion to do 
anything for the poor girl, Thquire ? ' ' 

*' I shall have something to propose to her when she comes 
back," said Mr. Gradgrind. 

'' Glad to hear it, Thquire. Not that I want to get rid of 
the child, any more than I want to thtand in her way. I'm 
willing to take her prentith, though at her age ith late. My 
voithe ith a little huthky, Thquire, and not eathy heard by 
them ath don't know me ; but if you'd been chilled and heated, 
heated and chilled, chilled and heated in the ring when you 
wath young, ath often ath I have been, your voithe wouldn't 
have lathted out, Thquire, no more than mine." 



THE GBABGRINB SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 339 

*'I dare say not," said Mr. Gradgrind. 

'' What thall it be, Thquire, while you wait? Thall it be 
Therry? Give it a name, Thquire ! " said Mr. Sleary, with 
a hospitable ease. 

''Nothing for me, I thank you," said Mr. Gradgrind. 

"Don't thay nothing, Thquire. What doth your friend 
thay ? If you haven't took your feed yet, have a glath of 
bitterth." 

Here his daughter Josephine — a pretty fair-haired girl of 
eighteen, who had been tied on a horse at two years old, and 
had made a will at twelve, which she always carried about with 
her, expressive of her dying desire to be drawn to the grave by 
the two piebald ponies — cried, ' ' Father, hush ! she has come 
back ! " Then came Sissy Jupe, running into the room as she 
had run out of it. And when she saw them all assembled, and 
saw their looks, and saw no father there, she broke into a 
,most deplorable cry, and took refuge on the bosom of the most 
accomplished tight-rope lady, who knelt down on the floor to 
nurse her and to weep over her. 

'' Ith an infernal thame, upon my soul it ith," said Sleary. 

" O my dear Father, my good kind Father, where are you 
gone ? You are gone to try to do me some good, I know ! 
You are gone away for my sake, I am sure ! And how mis- 
erable and helpless you will be without me, poor, poor Father, 
until you come back ! " It was so pathetic to hear her saying 
many things of this kind, with her face turned upward, and 
arms stretched out as if she were trying to stop his depart- 
ing shadoAV and embrace it, that no one spoke a word until 
Mr. Bounderby (growing impatient) took the case in hand. 

"Now, good people all," said he, " this is wanton waste oi 
time. Let the girl understand the fact. Let her take it from 
me, if you like, who have been run away from, myself. Here 
what's your name ! Your father has absconded — deserted you 
— and you mustn't expect to see him again as long as you 
live." 

They cared so little for plain Fact, these people, and were 



340 CHARLES DICKENS 

in that advanced state of degeneracy on the subject, that, 
instead of being impressed by the speaker's strong common 
sense, they took it in extraordinary dudgeon. The men mut- 
tered "Shame!" and the women "Brute !" and Sleary, in 
some haste, communicated the following hint, apart to Mr. 
Bounderby. 

"I tell you what, Thquire. To thpeak plain to you, my 
opinion ith that you had better cut it thort, and drop it. 
They're a very good-natur'd people, my people, but they're 
accuthomed to be quick in their movementh ; and if you don't 
act upon my advithe, I'm damned if I don't believe they'll 
pith you out o' winder." 

Mr. Bounderby being restrained by this mild suggestion, 
Mr. Gradgrind found an opening for his eminently practical 
exposition of the subject. 

"It is of no moment," he said, "whether this person is to be 
expected back at any time, or the contrary. He is gone away,^ 
and there is no present expectation of his return. That, I be- 
lieve, is agreed on all hands." 

" Thath agreed, Thquire. Thick to that ! " From Sleary. 

" Well then. I — who came here to inform the father of the 
poor girl, Jupe, that she could not be received at the school 
ahy more, in consequence of there being practical objections, 
into which I need not enter, to the reception there of the chil- 
dren of persons so employed — am prepared, in these altered cir- 
cumstances, to make a proposal. I am willing to take charge of 
you, Jupe, and to educate you, and provide for you. The only 
condition (over and above your good behavior) I make is, 
that you decide now, at once, whether to accompany me or 
remain here. Also that, if you accompany me now, it is under- 
stood that you communicate no more with any of your friends 
who are here present. These observations comprise the whole 
of the case." 

"At the thame time," said Sleary, "I mutht put in my 
word, Thquire, tho that both thides of the banner may be 
equally theen. If you like, Thethilia, to be prentitht, you 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 341 

know the natur of the work and you know your conipanionth. 
Emma Gordon, in whothe lap you're a lying at prethent, would 
be a mother to you, and Joth'phine would be a thithter to you. 
I don't pretend to be of the angel breed myself, and I don't 
thay but what, when you mith'd your tip, you'd find me cut 
\ip rough, and thwear an oath or two at you. But what I 
thay, Thquire, ith, that good-tempered or bad-tempered, I 
never did a horthe a injury yet, no more than thwearing at 
him went, and that I don't expect I thall begin otherwithe at 
my time of life, with a rider. I never wath much of a cackler, 
Thquire, and I have thed my thay. ' ' 

The latter part of this speech was addressed to Mr. Grad- 
grind, who received it with a grave inclination of his head, and 
then remarked: 

' ' The only observation I will make to you, Jupe, in the way 
of influencing your decision, is, that it is highly desirable to 
have a sound practical education, and that even your father 
himself (from what I understand) appears; on your behalf, to 
have known and felt that much." 

The last words had a visible effect upon her. She stopped 
in her wild crying, a little detached herself from Emma Gor- 
don, and turned her face full upon her patron. The whole 
company perceived the force of the change, and drew a long- 
breath together, that plainly said, ' ' she will go ! " 

''Be sure you know your own mind, Jupe," Mr. Gradgrind 
cautioned her ; "I say no more. Be sure you know your own 
mind ! " 

''When Father comes back," cried the girl, bursting into 
tears again after a minute's silence, " how will he ever find me 
if I go away ! " 

"You may be quite at ease," said Mr. Gradgrind, calmly; 
he worked out the Avhole matter like a sum; " you may be 
quite at ease, Jupe, on that score. In such a case, your father, 
I apprehend, must find out Mr. ' ' 

" Thleary. Thath my name, Thquire ! Not athamed of it. 
Known all over England, and alwayth pay the ith way." 



342 CHABLES DICKENS 

'' Must find out Mr. Sleary, who would then let him know 
where you went. I should have no power of keeping you 
against his wish, and he would have no difficulty, at any time, 
in finding Mr. Thomas Gradgrind of Coketown. I am well 
known. ' ' 

'' Well known," assented Mr. Sleary, rolling his loose eye. 
*' You're one of the thort, Thquire, that keepth a prethiouth 
thight of money out of the houthe. But never mind that at 
prethent." 

There was another silence ; and then she exclaimed, sobbing 
with her hands before her face, " Oh, give me my clothes, give 
me my clothes, and let me go away before I break my heart ! ' ' 

The women sadly bestirred themselves to get the clothes to- 
gether — it was soon done, for they were not many — and to 
pack them in a basket which had often traveled with them. 
Sissy sat all the time, upon the ground, still sobbing, and cov- 
ering her eyes. Mr. Gradgrind and his friend Bounderby 
stood near the door, ready to take her away. Mr. Sleary stood 
in the middle of the room, with the male members of the com- 
pany about him, exactly as he would have stood in the center 
of the ring during his daughter Josephine's performance. He 
wanted nothing but his whip. 

. The basket packed in silence, they brought her bonnet to her, 
and smoothed her disordered hair, and put it on. Then they 
pressed about her ; and bent over her in very natural attitudes, 
kissing and embracing her : and brought the children to take 
leave of her; and were a tender-hearted, simple, foolish set of 
women altogether. 

"Now, Jupe," said Mr. Gradgrind. "If you are quite 
determined, come ! " 

But she had to take her farewell of the male part of the com- 
pany yet, and every one of them had to unfold his arms (for 
they all assumed the professional attitude when they found 
themselves near Sleary), and give her a parting kiss — Master 
Kidderminster excepted, in whose young nature there was an 
original flavor of the misanthrope, who was always known to 



THE GRADGUIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 343 

have harbored matrimonial views, and who moodily withdrew. 
Mr. Sleary was reserved until the last. Opening his arms 
wide he took her by both her hands, and would have sprung 
her up and down, after the riding master manner of congratu- 
lating young ladies on their dismounting from a rapid act ; but 
there was no rebound in Sissy, and she only stood before him 
crying. 

''Good-by, my dear!" said Sleary. "You'll make your 
fortune, I hope, and none of our poor folkth will ever trouble 
you, I'll pound it. I with your father hadn't taken hith dog 
with him; ith a ill-conwenienth to have the dog out of the 
billth. But on thecond thoughtth, he wouldn't have performed 
without hith mathter, tho ith ath broad ath long ! ' ' 

With that he regarded her attentively with his fixed eye, 
surveyed his company with his loose one, kissed her, shook his 
head, and handed her to Mr. Gradgrind as to a horse. 

'' There the ith, Thquire," he said, sweeping her with a pro- 
fessional glance as if she were being adjusted in her seat, '' and 
the'll do you juthtithe. Good-by, Thethilia ! " 

'' Good-by, Cecilia ! " " Good-by, Sissy I " " God bless 
you, dear ! " In a variety of voices from all the room. 

But the riding master eye had observed the bottle of the 
nine oils in her bosom, and he now interposed with, " Leave the 
bottle, my dear ; ith large to carry ; it will be of no uthe to you 
now. Give it to me ! " 

'' No, no ! " she said, in another burst of tears. " Oh, no ! 
Pray let me keep it for Father till he comes back ! He will 
want it when he comes back. He had never thought of going 
away, when he sent me for it. I must keep it for him, if you 
please ! ' ' 

"Tho be it, my dear. (You thee how it ith, Thquire!) 
Farewell, Thethilia ! My latht wordth to you ith thith, Thtick 
to the termth of your engagement, be obedient to the Thquire, 
and forget uth. But if, when you're grown up and married 
well off, you come upon any horthe-riding ever, don't be hard 
upon it, don't be croth with it, give it a bethpeak if you can, 



344 CHABLES DICKENS 

and think you might do wurth. People must be amuthed, 
Thquire, somehow," continued Sleary, rendered more pursy 
than ever, by so much talking ; ''they can't be alwayth a work- 
ing, nor yet they can't be alwayth a learning. Make the betht 
of uth ; not the wurtht. I've got my living out of the horthe- 
riding all my life, I know ; but 1 conthider that I lay down the 
philothophy of the thubject when I thay to you, Thquire, 
make the betht of uth ; not the wurtht ! ' ' 

The Sleary philosophy was propounded as they went down- 
stairs ; and the fixed eye of Philosophy — and its rolling eye, 
too — soon lost the three figures and the basket in the darkness 
of the street. 

VII. Mks. Spaesit 

Mr. Bounderby bemg a bachelor, an elderly lady presided 
over his establishment, in consideration of a certain annual 
stipend. Mrs. Sparsit was this lady's name ; and she was a 
prominent figure in attendance on Mr. Bounderby's car, as it 
rolled along in triumph with the bully of humility inside. 

For Mrs. Sparsit had not only seen different days, but was 
highly connected. She had a great aunt living in these very 
times, called Lady Scadgers. Mr. Sparsit, deceased, of whom 
she was the relict, had been by the mother's side what Mrs. 
Sparsit still called "a Powler." Strangers of limited infor- 
mation and dull apprehension were sometimes observed not to 
know what a Powler was, and even to appear uncertain whether 
it might be a business or a political party or a profession of 
faith. The better class of mmds, however, did not need to be 
informed that the PoAvlers were an ancient stock, who could 
trace themselves so exceedmgly far back that it was not sur- 
prising if they sometimes lost themselves — which they had 
rather frequently done, as respected horseflesh, blind-hookey, 
Hebrew monetary transactions, and the Insolvent Debtors' 
Court. 

The late Mr. Sparsit, being by the mother's side a Powler, 



THE GBADGRINl) SYSTE3f OF EDUCATION 345 

married this lady, being by the father's side a Scadgers. Lady 
Scadgers (an immensely fat old woman, with an inordinate 
appetite for butcher's meat, and a mysterious leg which had 
now refused to get out of bed for fourteen years) contrived 
the marriage, at a period when Sparsit was just of age, and 
chiefly noticeable for a slender body, Aveakly supported on two 
long slim props, and surmounted by no head Avorth mentioning. 
He inherited a fair fortune from his uncle, but owed it all 
before he came into it, and spent it twice over immediately 
afterwards. Thus, when he died, at twenty-four (the scene of 
his decease, Calais, and the cause, brandy), he did not leave 
his widow, from whom he had been separated soon after the 
honeymoon, in affluent circumstances. That bereaved lady, 
fifteen years older than he, fell presently at deadly feud with 
her only relative. Lady Scadgers ; and, partly to spite her 
Ladyship, and partly to maintain herself, went out at a salary. 
And here she was now, in her elderly days, with the Corio- 
lanian style of nose and the dense black eyebrows which had 
captivated Sparsit, making Mr. Bounderby's tea as he took his 
breakfast. 

If Bounderby had been a Conqueror, and Mrs. Sparsit a 
captive Princess whom he took about as a feature in his state- 
processions, he could not have made a greater flourish with her 
than he habitually did. Just as it belonged to his boastfulness 
to depreciate his own extraction, so it belonged to it to exalt 
Mrs. Sparsit' s. In the measure that he would not allow his 
own youth to have been attended by a single favorable circum- 
stance, he brightened Mrs. Sparsit's juvenile career with every 
possible advantage, and showered wagonloads of early roses 
all over that lady's path, "And yet. Sir," he would say, 
' ' how does it turn out, after all ? Why, here she is at a hundred 
a year (I give her a hundred, which she is pleased to term 
handsome), keeping the house of Josiah Bounderby of Coke- 
town ! " 

Nay, he made this foil of his so very widely known, that third 
parties took it up, and handled it on some occasions with consid- 



346 CHABLES DICKENS 

erable briskness. It was one of the most exasperating attributes 
of Bounderby that he not only sang his own praises, but stimu- 
lated other men to sing them. There was a moral infection 
of claptrap in him. Strangers, modest enough elsewhere, 
started up at dinners in Coketown, and boasted, in quite a 
rampant way, of Bounderby. They made him out to be the 
Royal arms, the Union Jack, Magna Charta, John Bull, Habeas 
Corpus, the Bill of Rights, An Englishman's house is his 
castle. Church and State, and God Save the Queen, all put 
together. And as often (and it was very often) as an orator 
of this kind brought into his peroration, 

" Princes and lords may flourish or may fade, 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made," 

— it was, for certain, more or less understood among the com- 
pany that he had heard of Mrs. Sparsit. 

"Mr. Bounderby," said Mrs. Sparsit, ''you are unusually 
slow, Sir, with your breakfast this morning." 

"Why, Ma'am," he returned, "I am thinking about Tom 
Gradgrind's whim ; " Tom Gradgrind, for a bluff, independent 
manner of speaking — as if somebody were always endeavor- 
ing to bribe him with immense sums to say Thomas, and he 
wouldn't ; " Tom Gradgrind's whim, Ma'am, of bringing up 
the tumbling-girl." 

"The girl is now waiting to know," said Mrs. Sparsit, 
"whether she is to go straight to the school, or up to the 
Lodge." 

"She must wait. Ma'am," answered Bounderby, "till I 
know myself. We shall have Tom Gradgrind down here 
presently, I suppose. If he should wish her to remain here a 
day or two longer, of course she can. Ma'am." 

"Of course she can, if you wish it, Mr. Bounderby." 

"I told him that I would give her a shakedown here, last 
night, in order that he might sleep on it before he decided to 
let her have any association with Louisa." 

" Indeed, Mr. Bounderby ? Very thoughtful of you ! " 



THE GRADGBINB SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 347 

Mrs. Sparsit's Coriolanian nose underwent a slight expansion 
of the nostrils, and her black eyebrows contracted as she took a 
sip of tea. 

''It's tolerably clear to me," said Bonnderby, " that the little 
puss can get small good out of such companionship." 

"Are you speaking of young Miss Gradgrind, Mr. Boun- 
derby ? ' ' 

"Yes, Ma'am, I'm speaking of Louisa." 

"Your observation being limited to 'little puss,'" said 
Mrs. Sparsit, "and there being two little girls in question, I 
did not know which might be indicated by that expression. ' ' 

" Louisa," repeated Mr. Bounderby. " Louisa, Louisa." 

" You are quite another father to Louisa, Sir." Mrs. Sparsit 
took a little more tea ; and, as she bent her again contracted 
eyebrows over her steaming cup, rather looked as if her clas- 
sical countenance were invoking the infernal gods. 

' ' If you had said I was another father to Tom — young 
Tom, I mean, not my friend Tom Gradgrind — you might 
have been nearer the mark. I am going to take young 
Tom into my office. Going to have him under my wing. 
Ma'am." 

"Indeed? Rather young for that, is he not, Sir?" Mrs. 
Sparsit's "sir," in addressing Mr. Bounderby, was a word of 
ceremony, rather exacting consideration for herself in the use, 
than honoring him. 

" I'm not going to take him at once ; he is to finish his edu- 
cational cramming before then," said Bounderby. " By the 
Lord Harry, he'll have enough of it, first and last I He'd open 
his eyes, that boy would, if he knew how empty of learning 
mi/ young maw was at his time of life." Which, by the by, he 
probably did know, for he had heard of it often enough. " But 
it's extraordinary the difficulty I have on scores of such subjects, 
in speaking to any one on equal terms. Here, for example, 
I have been speaking to you this morning about tumblers. 
Why, what do you know about tumblers ? At the time when, 
to have been a tumbler in the mud of the streets would have 



348 CBARLES DICKENS 

been a godsend to me, a prize in the lottery to me, you were at 
the Italian Opera. You were coming out of the Italian Opera, 
Ma'am, in white satin and jewels, a blaze of splendor, when I 
hadn't a penny to buy a link to light you." 

"I certainly. Sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a dignity 
serenely mournful, '' was familiar with the Italian Opera at a 
very early age." 

'' Egad, Ma'am, so was I," said Bounderby, — " with the 
wrong side of it. A hard bed the pavement of its Arcade 
used to make, I assure you. People like you. Ma'am, accus- 
tomed from infancy to lie on down feathers, have no idea how 
hard a pavingstone is, without trying it. No, no, it's of no 
use my talking to i/ou about tumblers. I should speak of for- 
eign dancers, and the West End of London, and May Fair, and 
Lords and Ladies and Honorables." 

'-' I trust. Sir," rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, with decent resignation, 
" it is not necessary that you should do anything of that kind. 
I hope I have learnt how to accommodate myself to the changes 
of life. If I have acquired an interest in hearing of your 
instructive experiences, and can scarcely hear enough of them, 
I claim no merit for that, since I believe it is a general senti- 
ment." 

'' Well, Ma'am," said her patron, " perhaps some people may 
be pleased to say that they do like to hear, in his own unpol- 
ished way, what Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown, has gone 
through. But you must confess that you were born in the 
lap of luxury, yourself. Come," Ma'am, you know you were 
born in the lap of luxury." 

'' I do not, Sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a shake of her 
head, "deny it." 

Mr. Bounderby was obliged to get up from table, and stand 
with his back to the fire, looking at her ; she was such an 
enhancement of his position. 

"And you were in crack society. Devilish high society," 
he said, warming his legs. 

" It is true, Sir," returned i\Irs. Sparsit, with an affectation 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OE EDUCATION 349 

of humility the very opposite of his, and therefore in no danger 
of jostling it. 

" You were in the tiptop fashion, and all the rest of it," said 
Mr. Bounderby. 

"Yes, Sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a kind of social 
widowhood upon her. "It is unquestionably true." 

Mr. Bounderby, bending himself at the knees, literally em- 
braced his legs in his great satisfaction and laughed aloud. 
Mr. and Miss Gradgrind being then announced, he received 
the former with a shake of the hand, and the latter with a kiss. 

" Can Jupe be sent here, Bounderby ? " asked Mr. Gradgrind. 

Certainly. So Jupe was sent there. On coming in, she 
courtes-ied to Mr. Bounderby and to his friend Tom Grad- 
grind and also to Louisa, but, in her confusion, unluckily 
omitted Mrs. Sparsit. Observing this, the blustrous Boun- 
derby had the following remarks to make : 

" Now, I tell you what, my girl. The name of that lady by 
the teapot is Mrs. Sparsit. That lady acts as mistress of this 
house, and she is a highly connected lady. Consequently, if 
ever you come again into any room in this house, you will 
make a short stay in it if you don't behave towards that lady 
in your most respectful manner. Now, I don't care a button 
what you do to me^ because I don't affect to be anybody. So 
far from having high connections, I have no connections at all, 
and I come of the scum of the earth. But towards that lady, 
I do care what you do ; and you shall do what is deferential 
and respectful, or you shall not come here." 

" I hope, Bounderby," said Mr. Gradgrind, in a conciliatory 
voice, " that this was merely an oversight." 

"My friend Tom Gradgrind suggests, Mrs. Sparsit," said 
Bounderby, " that this was merely an oversight. Very likely. 
However, as you are aware. Ma'am, I don't allow of even over- 
sights towards you." 

"You are very good indeed. Sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, 
shaking her head with her state humility. " It is not worth 
speaking of." 



350 CHARLES DICKENS 

Sissy, who all this time had been excusing herself with 
tears in her eyes, was noAv waved over by the master of the 
house to Mr. Gradgrind. She stood looking intently at him, 
and Louisa stood coldly by, with her eyes upon the ground, 
while he proceeded thus : 

" Jupe, I have made up my mind to take you into my house 
and, when you are not in attendance at the school, to employ 
you about Mrs. Gradgrind, who is rather an invalid. I have 
explained to Miss Louisa — this is Miss Louisa — the miserable, 
but natural, end of your late career ; and you are to expressly 
understand that the whole of that subject is past, and is not to 
be referred to any more. From this time, you begin your his- 
tory. You are, at present, ignorant, I know." 

" Yes, Sir, very," she answered, courtesying. 

" I shall have the satisfaction of causing you to be strictly 
educated ; and you will be a living proof to all who come into 
communication with you, of the advantages of the training you 
will receive. You will be reclaimed and formed. You have 
been in the habit now of reading to your father and those 
people I found you among, I dare say ? " said Mr. Gradgrind, 
beckoning her nearer to him before he said so, and dropping 
his voice. 

" Only to Father and Merrylegs, Sir. At least I mean to 
Father, when Merrylegs was always there." 

" Never mind Merrylegs, Jupe," said Mr. Gradgrind, with a 
passing frown. "I don't ask about him. I understand you 
to have been in the habit of reading to your father? " 

" Oh, yes. Sir, thousands of times. They were the happiest 
— O, of all the happy times we had together. Sir ! " 

It was only now, when her sorrow broke out, that Louisa 
looked at her. 

"And what," asked Mr. Gradgrind, in a still lower voice, 
"did you read to your father, Jupe? " 

"About the Fairies, Sir, and the Dwarf, and the Hunchback, 
and the Genii," she sobbed ; " and about — " 

" Hush ! " said Mr. Gradgrind, " that is enough. Never 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 351 

breathe a word of such destructive nonsense any more. Boun- 
derby, this is a case for rigid training, and I shall observe it 
with interest." 

*' Well," returned Mr. Bounderby, " I have given you my 
opinion already, and I shouldn't do as you do. But, very well, 
very well. Since you are bent upon it, vevT/ well ! " 

So Mr. Gradgrind and his daughter took Cecilia Jupe off 
with them to Stone Lodge, and on the way Louisa never spoke 
one word, good or bad. And Mr. Bounderby went about his 
daily pursuits. And Mrs. Sparsit got behind her eyebrows 
and meditated in the gloom of that retreat all the evening. 



VIII. Never Wokder 

Let us strike the keynote again, before pursuing the tune. 

When she was half a dozen years younger, Louisa had been 
overheard to begin a conversation with her brother one day, by 
saying "Tom, I wonder" — upon which Mr. Gradgrind, who 
was the person overhearing, stepped forth into the light and 
said, " Louisa, never wonder ! " 

Herein lay the spring of the mechanical art and mystery of 
educating the reason without stooping to the cultivation of the 
sentiments and affections. Never wonder. By means of addi- 
tion, subtraction, multiplication, and division, settle everything 
somehow, and never wonder. " Bring to me," says M'Choak- 
umchild, " yonder baby just able to walk, and I will engage 
that it shall never wonder." 

Now, besides very many babies just able to walk, there hap- 
pened to be in Coketown a considerable population of babies 
who liad been walking against time towards the infinite world, 
twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years and more. These portentous 
infants being alarming creatures to stalk about in any human 
society, the eighteen denominatix^ns incessantly scratched one 
another's faces and pulled one another's hair by way of agree- 
ing on the steps to be taken for their improvement — which 



352 CRABLES DICKENS 

they never did; a surprising circumstance, when the happy 
adaptation of the means to the end is considered. Still, 
although they differed in every other particular, conceivable 
and inconceivable (especially inconceivable), they were pretty 
well united on the point that these unlucky infants were never 
to wonder. Body number one said they must take everything 
on trust. Body number two said they must take everything 
on political economy. Body number three wrote leaden little 
books for them, showing how the good grown-up baby invaria- 
bly got to the savings bank, and the bad grown-up baby 
invariably got transported. Body number four, under dreary 
pretenses of being droll (when it was very melancholy, indeed), 
made the shallowest pretenses of concealing pitfalls of knowl- 
edge, into which it was the duty of these babies to be smug- 
gled and inveigled. But all the bodies agreed that they were 
never to wonder. 

There was a library in Coketown, to which general access 
was easy. Mr. Gradgrind greatly tormented his mind about 
Avhat the people read in this library — a point whereon little 
rivers of tabular statements periodically flowed into the howl- 
ing ocean of tabular statements, which no diver ever got to 
any depth in and came up sane. It was a disheartening cir- 
cumstance, but a melancholy fact, that even these readers per- 
sisted in wondering. They wondered about human nature, 
human passions, human hopes and fears, the struggles, tri- 
umphs and defeats, the cares and joys and sorrows, the lives 
and deaths of common men and women ! They sometimes, 
after fifteen hours' work, sat down to read mere fables about 
men and women, more or less like themselves, and about chil- 
dren, more or less like their own. They took De Foe to their 
bosoms, instead of Euclid, and seemed to be, on the whole, more 
comforted by Goldsmith than by Cocker. Mr. Gradgrind was 
forever working, in print and out of print, at this eccentric 
sum, and he never could make out how it yielded this unac- 
countable product. 

*' I am sick of my life. Loo. I hate it altogether, and I hate. 



THE GEADGRIND SYSTEM OF EBU CATION 353 

everybody except you," said the unnatural young Thomas 
Gradgrind in the hair-cutting chamber at twilight. 

'' You don't hate Sissy, Tom ?" 

" I hate to be obliged to call her Jupe. And she hates me," 
said Tom, moodily. 

" No, she does not, Tom, I am sure ! " 

" She must," said Tom. '' She must just hate and detest 
the whole set-out of us. They'll bother her head off, I think, 
before they have done with her. Already she's getting as pale 
as wax, and as heavy as — I am." 

Young Thomas expressed these sentiments sitting astride of 
a chair before the fire, with his arms on the back, and his sulky 
face on his arms. His sister sat in the darker corner by the 
fireside, now looking at him, now looking at the bright sparks 
as they dropped upon the hearth. 

'' As to me," said Tom, tumbling his hair all manner of ways 
with his sulky hands, " I am a donkey, that's what / am. I 
am as obstinate as one, I am more stupid than one, I get as 
much pleasure as one, and I should like to kick like one." 

"Not me, I hope, Tom?" 

" No, Loo ; I wouldn't hurt you. I made an exception of you 
at first. I don't know what this — jolly old — Jaundiced Jail " 
(Tom had paused to fmd a sufficiently complimentary and ex- 
pressive name for the parental roof, and seemed to relieve his 
mind for a moment by the strong alliteration of this one) 
"would be without you." 

" Indeed, Tom ? Do you really and truly say so ? " 

"Why, of course I do. What's the use of talking about 
it ! " returned Tom, chafing his face on his coat sleeve, as if to 
mortify his flesh, and have it in unison with his spirit. 

" Because, Tom," said his sister, after silently watching the 
sparks awhile, " as I get older, and nearer growing up, I often 
sit wondering here, and think how unfortunate it is for me 
that I can't reconcile you to home better than I am able to do. 
I don't know what other girls know. I can't play to ^you, or 
sing to you. I can't talk to you so as to lighten your mind, 

SCH. IN COM. 23 



354 CHARLES DICKENS 

for I never see any amusing sights or read any amusing books 
that it would be a pleasure or a relief to you to talk about, 
when you are tired." 

" Well, no more do I. I am as bad as you in that respect ; 
and I am a mule too, which you're not. If Father was deter- 
mined to make me either a prig or a mule, and I am not a 
prig, why, it stands to reason, I must be a mide. And so I 
am," said Tom, desperately. 

"It's a great pity," said Louisa, after another pause, and 
speaking thoughtfully out of her dark corner ; " it's a great 
pity, Tom. It's very unfortunate for both of us." 

" Oh ! You," said Tom ; " you are a girl. Loo, and a girl 
comes out of it better than a boy does. I don't miss any- 
thing in you. You are the only pleasure I have — you can 
brighten even this place — -and you can always lead me as you 
like." 

" You are a dear brother, Tom ; and while you think I can 
do such things, I don't so much mind knowing better. Though 
I do know better, Tom, and am very sorry for it." She came 
and kissed him, and went back into her corner again. 

" I wish I could collect all the Facts we hear so much about," 
said Tom, spitefully setting his teeth, "and all the Figures, 
and all the people who found them out; and I wish I could 
put a thousand barrels of gunpowder under them, and blow 
them all up together ! However, when I go to live with old 
Bounderby, I'll have my revenge." 

" Your revenge, Tom ? " 

" I mean, I'll enjoy myself a little, and go about and see 
something, and hear something. I'll recompense myself for 
the way in which I have been brought up." 

" But don't disappoint yourself beforehand, Tom. Mr. 
Bounderby thinks as Father thinks, and is a great deal rougher, 
and not half so kind." 

" Oh ! " said Tom, laughing ; " I don't mind that. I shall 
very Well knoAv how to manage and smooth old Bounderby ! " 

Their shadows were defined upon the wall, but those of the 



THE GRABGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 355 

high presses in the room were all blended together on the wall 
and on the ceiling, as if the brother and sister were overhung 
by a dark cavern. Or a fanciful imagination — if such treason 
could have been there — might have made it out to be the 
shadow of their subject, and of its lowering association with 
their future. 

'' What is your great mode of smoothing and managing, Tom ? 
Is it a secret ? " 

'' Oh ! " said Tom, '' if it is a secret, it's not far off. It's you. 
You are his little pet, you are his favorite ; he'll do anything 
for you. When he says to me what I don't like, I shall say 
to him, ' My sister Loo will be hurt and disappointed, Mr. 
Bounderby. She always used to tell me she was sure you 
would be easier with me than this.' That'll bring him about, 
or nothing will." 

After waiting for some answering remark, and getting none, 
Tom wearily relapsed into the present time, and twined himself 
yaAvning round and about the rails of his chair, and rumpled his 
head more and more, until he suddenly looked up, and asked : 

" Have you gone to sleep. Loo ? " 

"No, Tom. I am looking at the fire." 

" You seem to find more to look at in it than ever I could 
find," said Tom. " Another of the advantages, I suppose, of 
being a girl." 

"Tom," inquired his sister, slowly, and in a curious tone, as 
if she were reading what she asked in the fire, and it were not 
quite plainly written there, " do you look forward with any 
satisfaction to this change to Mr. Bounderby's ? " 

" Why, there's one thing to be said of it," returned Tom, 
pushing his chair from him, and standing up ; " it will be get- 
ting away from home." 

" There is one thing to be said of it," Louisa repeated in her 
former curious tone ; " it will be getting away from home. 
Yes." 

" Not but what I shall be very unwilling, both to leave you, 
Loo, and to leave you here. But I must go, you know, whether 



356 CHARLES DICKENS 

I like it or not ; and I had better go where I can take with me 
some advantage of your influence, than where I should lose it 
altogether. Don't you see ? " 

^' Yes, Tom." 

The answer was so long in coming, though there was no inde- 
cision in it, that Tom went and leaned on the back of her chair, 
to contemplate the fire which so engrossed her, from her point 
of view, and see what he could make of it. 

" Except that it is a fire," said Tom, " it looks to me as stupid 
and blank as everything else looks. What do you see in it ? 
Not a circus ? " 

" I don't see anything in it, Tom, particularly. But since I 
have been looking at it, I have been wondering about you and 
me, grown up." 

" Wondering again ! " said Tom. 

" I have such unmanageable thoughts," returned his sister, 
"that they will wonder." 

" Then I beg of you, Louisa," said Mrs. Gradgrind, who had 
opened the door without being heard, " to do nothing of that 
description, for goodness' sake, you inconsiderate girl, or I shall 
never hear the last of it from your father. And, Thomas, it is 
really shameful, with my poor head continually wearing me out, 
that a boy brought up as you have been, and whose education 
has cost what yours has, should be found encouraging his sister 
to wonder, when he knows his father has expressly said that she 
is not to do it." 

Louisa denied Tom's participation in the offense ; but her 
mother stopped her with the conclusive answer, " Louisa, don't 
tell me, in my state of health ; for unless you had been 
encouraged, it is morally and physically impossible that you 
could have done it." 

" I was encouraged by nothing. Mother, but by looking at the 
red sparks dropping out of the fire, and whitening and dying. 
It made me think, after all, how short my life would be, and 
how little I could hope to do in it." 

" Nonsense I " said Mrs. Gradgrind, rendered almost ener- 



THE GBADGBIND SYSTE3I OF EDUCATION 357 

getic. '' Nonsense ! Don't stand there and tell me such stuff, 
Louisa, to my face, when you know very well that if it was ever 
to reach your father's ears I should never hear the last of it. 
After all the trouble that has been taken with you ! After the 
lectures you have attended, and the experiments you have seen ! 
After I have heard you myself, when the whole of my right side 
has been benumbed, going on with your master about combus- 
tion, and calcination, and calorification, and I may say every 
kind of ation that could drive a poor invalid distracted, to hear 
you talking in this absurd way about sparks and ashes ! I 
wish," whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind, taking a chair, and dis- 
charging her strongest point before succumbing under these 
mere shadows of facts, " yes, I really do wish that I had never 
had a family, and then you would have known what it was to 
do without me ! " 

IX. Sissy's Progress 

Sissy Jupe had not an easy time of it, between Mr. 
M'Choakumchild and Mrs. Gradgrind, and was not without 
strong impulses, in the first months of her probation, to run 
away. It hailed facts all day long so very hard, and life in 
general was opened to her as such a closely ruled ciphering- 
book, that assuredly she would have run away, but for only 
one restraint. 

It is lamentable to think of ; but this restraint was the re- 
sult of no arithmetical process, was self-imposed in defiance of 
all calculation, and went dead against any table of probabilities 
that any actuary would have drawn up from the premises. 
The girl believed that her father had not deserted her; she 
lived in the hope that he would come back, and in the faith 
that he would be made the happier b}^ her remaining where she 
was. 

The wretched ignorance with which Jupe clung to this con- 
solation, rejecting the superior comfort of knowing, on a sound 
arithmetical basis, that her father was an unnatural vagabond, 



358 CHARLES DICKENS 

filled Mr. Gradgrind with pity. Yet, what was to be done? 
M'Choakumchild reported that she had a very dense head for 
figures ; that, once possessed with a general idea of the globe, 
she took the smallest conceivable interest in its exact measure- 
ments ; that she was extremely slow in the acquisition of dates, 
unless some pitiful incident happened to be connected there- 
with; that she would burst into tears on being required (by 
the mental process) immediately to name the cost of two hun- 
dred and forty-seven muslin caps at fourteen-pence half -penny ; 
that she was as low down, in the school, as low could be ; that 
after eight weeks of induction into the elements of political 
economy, she had only yesterday been set right by a prattler 
three feet high, for returning to the question, "What is 
the first principle of this science ? " the absurd answer, 
"To do unto others as I would that they should do unto 
me." 

Mr. Gradgrind observed, shaking his head, that all this was 
very bad ; that it showed the necessity of infinite grinding at 
the mill of knowledge, as per system, schedule, blue book, 
report, and tabular statements A to Z ; and that Jupe " must 
be kept to it." So Jupe was kept to it, and became low- 
spirited, but no wiser. 

" It would be a fine thing to be you. Miss Louisa ! " she said 
one night, when Louisa had endeavored to make her perplexi- 
ties for next day something clearer to her. 

"Do you think so? " 

" I should know so much. Miss Louisa. All that is difficult 
to me now, would be so easy then." 

"You might not be the better for it, Sissy." 

Sissy submitted, after a little hesitation. " I should not be 
the worse. Miss Louisa." To which Miss Louisa answered, "I 
don't know that." 

There had been so little communication between these two — - 
both because life at Stone Lodge went monotonously round like 
a piece of machinery which discouraged human interference, 
and because of the prohibition relative to Sissy's past career — 



THE GBADGRIND IS Y STEM OF EBUCATION 859 

that they were still almost strangers. Sissy, with her dark eyes 
wonderingly directed to Louisa's face, was uncertain whether to 
say more or to remain silent. 

" You are more useful to my mother, and more pleasant with 
her than I can ever be," Louisa resumed. " You are pleasanter 
to yourself, than Jam to m?/self." 

''But, if you please. Miss Louisa," Sissy pleaded, "I am — O 
so stupid ! " 

Louisa, with a brighter laugh than usual, told her she would 
be wiser by and by. 

" You don't know," said Sissy, half crying, " what a stupid 
girl I am. All through school hours I make mistakes. Mr. 
and Mrs. M'Choakumchild call me up, over and over again, 
regularly to make mistakes. I can't help them. They seem to 
come natural to me." 

"Mr. and Mrs. M'Choakumchild never make any mistakes 
themselves, I suppose. Sissy ? " 

" O no ! " she eagerly returned. " They know every- 
thing." 

"Tell me some of your mistakes." 

"I am almost ashamed," said Sissy, with reluctance. "But 
to-day, for instance, Mr. M'Choakumchild was explaining to us 
about natural prosperity." 

" National, I think it must have been," observed Louisa. 

"Yes, it was. — But isn't it the same? " she timidly asked. 

" You had better say, national, as he said so," returned Louisa, 
with her dry reserve. 

" National prosperity. And he said, ' Now, this schoolroom is 
a nation. And in this nation, there are fifty millions of money. 
Isn't this a prosperous nation ? Girl Number Twenty, isn't this 
a prosperous nation, and ain't you in a thriving state ? ' " 

" What did you say ? " asked Louisa. 

"Miss Louisa, I said I didn't know. I thought I couldn't 
know whether it was a prosperous nation or not, and whether I 
was in a thriving state or not, unless I knew who had got the 
money, and whether any of it was mine. But that had nothing 



360 CHABLES DICKENS 

to do with it. It was not in the figures at all," said Sissy, wip- 
ing her eyes. 

" That was a great mistake of yours," observed Louisa. 

" Yes, Miss Louisa, I know it was, now. Then Mr. M'Choak- 
umchild said he would try me again. And he said : ' This, 
schoolroom is an immense town, and in it there are a million of 
inhabitants, and only five-and-twenty are starved to death in 
the streets in the course of a year. What is your remark on 
that proportion?' And my remark was — for I couldn't think 
of a better one — that I thought it must be just as hard upon 
those who were starved, whether the others were a million, or 
a million million. And that was wrong, too." 

" Of course it was." 

" Then Mr. M'Choakumchild said he would try me once more. 
And he said : 'Here are the stutterings — ' " 

" Statistics," said Louisa. 

" Yes, Miss Louisa — they always remind me of stutterings, 
and that's another of my mistakes — ' of accidents upon the sea. 
And I find (Mr. M'Choakumchild said) that in a given time a 
hundred thousand persons went to sea on long voyages, and 
only five hundred of them were drowned or burnt to death. 
What is the percentage?' And I said. Miss " (here Sissy fairly 
sobbed as confessing with extreme contrition to her greatest 
error), " I said it was nothing — " 

"Nothing, Sissy?" 

"Nothing, Miss, — to the relations and friends of the people 
who were killed. I shall never learn," said Sissy. " And the 
worst of all is, that although my poor father wished me so much 
to learn, and although I am so anxious to learn, because he 
wished me to, I am afraid I don't like it." 

Louisa stood looking at the pretty modest head, as it drooped 
abashed before her, until it was raised again to glance at her 
face. Then she asked : 

" Did your father know so much himself, that he wished you 
to be well taught too. Sissy? " 

Sissy hesitated before replying, and so plainly showed her 



THE GBADGBINB SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 361 

sense that they were entering on forbidden ground, that Louisa 
added, '' No one hears us ; and if any one did, I am sure no 
harm could be found in such an innocent question." 

" No, Miss Louisa," answered Sissy, upon this encouragement, 
shaking her head } '' Father knows very little indeed. It's as 
much as he can do to write ; and it's more than people in general 
can do to read his writing. Though it's plain to me.'" 

''Your mother?" 

" Father says she was quite a scholar. She died when I was 
born. She was — " Sissy made the terrible communication ner- 
vously — "she was a dancer." 

" Did your father love her ? " Louisa asked these questions 
with a strong, wild, wandering interest peculiar to her — an 
interest gone astray like a banished creature, and hiding in 
solitary places. 

" O yes I As dearly as he loves me. Father loved me, first, 
for her sake. He carried me about with him when I was quite 
a baby. We have never been asunder from that time." 

" Yet he leaves you now, Sissy? " 

" Only for my good. Nobody understands him as I do ; 
nobody knows him as I do. When he left me for my good — 
he never would have left me for his own — I knew he was almost 
broken-hearted with the trial. He will not be happy for a sin- 
gle minute, till he comes back." 

" Tell me more about him," sa<id Louisa, " I will never ask 
you again. Where did you live ? " 

" We traveled about the country, and had no fixed place to 
live in. Father's a — " Sissy whispered the awful word — ^'a 
clown." 

"To make the people laugh? " said Louisa, with a nod of in- 
telligence. 

" Yes. But they wouldn't laugh sometimes, and then father 
cried. Lately, they very often wouldn't laugh, and he used to 
come home despairing. Father's not like most. Those who 
didn't know him as well as I do, and didn't love him as dearly 
as I do, might believe he was not quite right. Sometimes they 



362 CHARLES DICKENS 

played tricks upon him ; but they never knew how he felt them, 
and shrunk up, when he was alone with me. He was far, far 
timider than they thought ! " 

" And you were his comfort, through everything?" 

She nodded, with the tears rolling down her face. " I hope 
so, and Father said I was. It was because he grew so scared 
and trembling, and because he felt himself to be a poor, weak, 
ignorant, helpless man (those used to be his words), that he 
wanted me so much to know a great deal, and be different from 
him. I used to read to him to cheer his courage, and he was 
very fond of that. They were wrong books — I am never to 
speak of them here — but we didn't know there was any harm 
in them." 

" And he liked them ? " said Louisa, with a searching gaze 
on Sissy all this time. 

" O very much ! They kept him, many times, from what 
did him real harm. And often and often of a night, he used 
to forget all his troubles in wondering whether the Sultan 
would let the lady go on with the story, or would have her 
head cut off before it was finished." 

" And your father was always kind ? To the last ? " asked 
Louisa ; contravening the great principle, and wondering very 
much. 

" Always, always I " returned Sissy, clasping her hands. 
" Kinder and kinder than I can tell. He was angry only one 
night, and that was not to me, but Merrylegs. Merrylegs — " 
she whispered the awful fact — " is his performing dog." 

" Why was he angry with the dog ? " Louisa demanded. 

" Father, soon after they came home from performing, told 
Merrylegs to jump up on the backs of the two chairs and stand 
across them — which is one of his tricks. He looked at Father, 
and didn't do it at once. Everything of Father's had gone 
wrong that night, and he hadn't pleased the public at all. He 
cried out that the very dog knew he was failing, and had no 
compassion on him. Then he beat the dog, and I was fright- 
ened, and said, ' Father, Father ! Pray, don't hurt the creature 



THE GRADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 363 

who is so fond of you ! O Heaven forgive you, Father, stop ! ' 
And he stopped, and the dog was bloody, and father lay down 
crying on the floor with the dog in his arms, and the dog 
licked his face." 

Louisa saw that she was sobbing ; and going to her, kissed 
her, took her hand, and sat down beside her. 

" Finish by telling me how your father left you. Sissy. Now 
that I have asked you so much, tell me the end. The blame, 
if there is any blame, is mine, not yours." 

" Dear Miss Louisa," said Sissy, covering her eyes, and sob- 
bing yet ; " I came home from the school that afternoon, and 
found poor Father just come home too, from the booth. And 
he sat rocking himself over the fire, as if he was in pain. And 
I said, ' Have you hurt yourself. Father ? ' (as he did some- 
times, like they all did), and he said, 'A little, my darling.' 
And when I came to stoop down and look up at his face, I saw 
that he was crying. The more I spoke to him, the more he 
hid his face ; and at first he shook all over, and said nothing 
but ' My darling,' and ' My love ! ' " 

Here Tom came lounging in, and stared at the two with a 
coolness not particularly savoring of interest in anything but 
himself, and not much of that at present. 

" I am asking Sissy a few questions, Tom," observed his 
sister. "You have no occasion to go away; but don't inter- 
rupt us for a moment, Tom dear." 

" Oh ! very well ! " returned Tom. " Only Father has 
brought old Bounderby home, and I want you to come into 
the drawing-room. Because if you come, there's a good 
chance of old Bounderby's asking me to dinner; and if you 
don't, there's none." 

" I'll come directly." 

" I'll wait for you," said Tom, " to make sure." 

Sissy resumed in a loAver voice. " At last poor Father said 
that he had given no satisfaction again, and never did give any 
satisfaction now, and that he was a shame and disgrace, and I 
should have done better without him all along. I said all the 



364 CHARLES DICKENS 

affectionate things to him that came into my heart, and pres- 
ently he Avas quiet and I sat down by him, and told him all 
about the school and everything that had been said and done 
there. When I had no more left to tell, he put his arms round 
my neck, and kissed me a great many times. Then he asked 
me to fetch some of the stuff he used, for the little hurt he had 
had, and to get it at the best place, which was at the other end of 
town from there ; and then, after kissing me again, he let me 
go. When I had gone down stairs, I turned back that I might 
be a little bit more company to him yet, and looked in at the 
door, and said, ' Father dear, shall I take Merrylegs ? ' Father 
shook his head and said, '• No, Sissy, no ; take nothing that's 
known to be mine, my darling ; ' and I left him sitting by the 
fire. Then the thought must have come upon him, poor, poor 
father I of going away to try something for my sake ; for when 
I came back, he was gone." 

" I say ! Look sharp for old Bounderby, Loo ! " Tom remon- 
strated. 

" There's no more to tell. Miss Louisa. I keep the nine oils 
ready for him, and I know he will come back. Every letter 
that I see in Mr. Gradgrind's hand takes my breath away and 
blinds my eyes, for I think it comes from father, or from Mr. 
Sleary about father. Mr. Sleary promised to write as soon as 
ever father should be heard of, and I trust to him to keep his 
word." 

" Do look sharp for old Bounderby, Loo ! " said Tom, with an 
impatient whistle. " He'll be off if you don't look sharp ! " 

After this, whenever Sissy dropped a courtesy to Mr. Gradgrind 
in the presence of his family, and said in a faltering way, — "I 
beg your pardon, sir, for being troublesome — but — have you 
had any letter yet about me ? " — Louisa would suspend the occu- 
pation of the moment, whatever it was, and look for the reply 
as earnestly as Sissy did. And when Mr. Gradgrind regularly 
answered, "No, Jupe, nothing of the sort," the trembling of 
Sissy's lip would be repeated in Louisa's face, and her eyes 
would follow Sissy with compassion to the door. Mr. Gradgrind 



THE GRADGEIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 365 

usually improved these occasions by remarking, when she was 
gone, that if Jupe had been properly trained from an early age 
she would have demonstrated to herself on sound principles the 
baselessness of these fantastic hopes. Yet it did seem (though 
not to him, for he saw nothing of it ) as if fantastic hope could 
take as strong a hold as Fact. 

This observation must be limited exclusively to his daughter. 
As to Tom, he was becoming that not unprecedented triumph of 
calculation, which is usually at work on number one. As to 
Mrs. Gradgrind, if she said anything on the subject, she would 
come a little way out of her wrappers, like a feminine dormouse, 
and say : 

"Good gracious bless me, how my poor head is vexed and 
worried by that girl Jupe's so perse veringly asking, over and over 
again, about her tiresome letters ! Upon my word and honor 
I seem to be fated and destined and ordained to live in the 
midst of things that I am never to hear the last of. It really 
is a most extraordinary circumstance that it appears as if I never 
Avas to hear the last of anything ! " 

At about this point, Mr. Gradgrind's eye would fall upon 
her, and under the influence of that wintry piece of fact, 
she would become torpid again. 

X. The Great Manufactuker 

Time went on in Coketown like its own machinery. So much 
material wrought up, so much fuel consumed, so many powers 
worn out, so much money made. But, less inexorable than 
iron, steel, and brass, it brought its varying seasons even into 
that wilderness of smoke and brick, and made the only stand 
that ever was made in the place against its direful uni- 
formity. 

" Louisa is becoming," said Mr. Gradgrind, '' almost a young 
woman." 

Time, with his innumerable horse-power, worked away, not 
minding what anybody said, and presently turned out young 



366 CHABLES DICKENS 

Thomas a foot taller than when his father had last taken par- 
ticular notice of him. 

''Thomas is becoming," said Mr. Gradgrind, "almost a 
young man." 

Time passed Thomas on in the mill, while his father was 
thinking about it, and there he stood in a long-tailed coat and 
a stiff shirt collar. , 

"Really," said Mr. Gradgrind, "the period has arrived when 
Thomas ought to go to Bounderby." 

Time, sticking to him, passed him on into Bounderby's Bank, 
made him an inmate of Bounderby's house, necessitated the 
purchase of his first razor, and exercised him diligently in his 
calculations relative to number one. 

The same great manufacturer, always with an immense 
variety of work on hand, in every stage of development, passed 
Sissy onward in his mill, and worked her up into a very pretty 
article indeed. 

" I fear, Jupe," said Mr. Gradgrind, " that your continuance 
at the school any longer would be useless." 

"I am afraid it would. Sir," Sissy answered with a cour- 
tesy. 

"I cannot disguise from you, Jupe," said Mr. Gradgrind, 
knitting his brow, " that the result of your probation there has 
disappointed me — has greatly disappointed me. You have not 
acquired, under Mr. and Mrs. M'Choakum child, anything like 
that amount of exact knowledge which I looked for. You are 
extremely deficient in your facts. Your acquaintance with 
figures is very limited. You are altogether backward, and 
below the mark." 

"I am sorry. Sir," she returned; "but I know it is quite 
true. Yet I have tried hard. Sir." 

" Yes," said Mr. Gradgrind, " yes, I believe you have tried 
hard ; I have observed you, and I can find no fault in that 
respect." 

" Thank you. Sir. I have thought sometimes " (Sissy very 
timid here) " that perhaps I tried to learn too much, and that 



THE GEADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 367 

if I had asked to be allowed to try a little less, I might 
have — " 

''No, Jupe, no," said Mr. Gradgrind, shaking his head in his 
profoimdest and most eminently practical way. " No. The 
course you pursued, you pursued according to the system — 
the system, — and there is no more to be said about it. I can 
only suppose that the circumstances of your early life were too 
unfavorable to the development of your reasoning powers, and 
that we began too late. Still, as I have said already, I am dis- 
appointed." 

" I wish I could have made a better acknowledgment, Sir, of 
your kindness to a poor forlorn girl who had no claim upon 
you, and of your protection of her." 

"Don't shed tears," said Mr. Gradgrind. "Don't shed 
tears. I don't complain of you. You are an affectionate, 
earnest, good young woman — and — and we must make 
that do." 

"Thank you. Sir, very much," said Sissy, with a grateful 
courtesy. 

"You are useful to Mrs. Gradgrind, and (in a generally per- 
vading way) you are serviceable in the family also; so I un- 
derstand from Miss Louisa, and, indeed, so I have observed 
myself. I therefore hope," said Mr. Gradgrind, "that you can 
make yourself happy in those relations." 

" I should have nothing to wish, Sir, if — " 

"1 understand you, " said Mr. Gradgrind; "you still refer to 
your father. I have heard from Miss Louisa that you still pre- 
serve that bottle. Well! If your training in the science of 
arriving at exact results had been more successful, you would 
have been wiser on these points. I will say no more." 

He really liked Sissy too well to have a contempt for her; 
otherwise he held her calculating powers in such very slight 
estimation that he must have fallen upon that conclusion. 
Somehow or other, he had become possessed of an idea that 
there was something in this girl which could hardly be set 
forth in a tabular form. Her capacity of definition might be 



368 CHABLES DICKENS 

easily stated at a very low figure, her mathematical knowledge 
at nothing ; yet he was not sure that if he had been required, 
for example, to tick her off into columns in a parliamentary 
return, he would have quite known how to divide her. 

In some stages of his manufacture of the human fabric, the 
processes of time are very rapid. Young Thomas and Sissy 
being both at such a stage of their working up, these changes 
were effected in a 3^ear or two; while Mr. Gradgrind himself 
seemed stationary in his course, and underwent no altera- 
tion. 

Except one, which was apart from his necessary progress 
through the mill. Time hustled him into a little noisy and 
rather dirty machinery, in a by-corner, and made him Member 
of Parliament for Coketown — one of the respected members 
for ounce weights and measures, one of the representatives of 
the multiplication table, one of the deaf honorable gentlemen, 
damb honorable gentlemen, blind honorable gentlemen, lame 
honorable gentlemen, dead honorable gentlemen, to every other 
consideration. Else wherefore live we in a Christian land, 
eighteen hundred and odd years after our Master? 

All this while, Louisa had been passing on, so quiet and 
reserved, and so much given to watching the bright ashes at 
twilight as they fell into the grate and became extinct, that 
from the period when her father had said she was almost a 
young woman — which seemed but yesterday — she had scarcely 
attracted his notice again, when he found her quite a young 
woman. 

"Quite a young woman," said Mr. Gradgrind, musing. 
"Dear me!" 

Soon after this discovery, he became more thoughtful than 
usual for several days, and seemed much engrossed by one sub- 
ject. On a certain night, when he was going out, and Louisa 
came to bid him good-by before his departure — as he was not 
to be home until late and she would not see him again until 
the morning — he held her in his arms, looking at her in his 
kindest manner, and said; 



THE GEADGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 369 

"My dear Louisa, you are a woman! " 

She answered with the old, quick, searching look of the night 
when she was found at the circus ; then cast down her eyes. 
"Yes, Father." 

"My dear," said Mr. Gradgrind, "I must speak with you 
alone and seriously. Come to me in my room after breakfast 
to-morrow, will you ? " 

"Yes, Father." 

"Your hands are rather cold, Louisa. Are you not 
well?" 

"Quite well. Father." 

"And cheerful?" 

She looked at him again, and smiled in her peculiar manner. 
"I am as cheerful. Father, as I usually am, or usually have 
been." 

"That's well," said Mr. Gradgrind. So he kissed her and 
went away; and Louisa returned to the serene apartment of 
the hair-cutting character, and leaning her elbow on her hand, 
looked again at the short-lived sparks that so soon subsided 
into ashes. 

"Are you there. Loo?" said her brother, looking in at the 
door. He was quite a young gentleman of pleasure now, and 
not quite a prepossessing one. 

"Dear Tom," she answered, rising and embracing him, 
"how long it is since you have been to see me! " 

" Why, I have been otherwise engaged. Loo, in the evenings ; 
and in the daytime old Bounderby has been keeping me at it 
rather. But I touch him up with you when he comes it too 
strong, and so we preserve an understanding. I say! Has 
Father said anything particular to you to-day or yesterday, 
Loo?" 

" No, Tom. But he told me to-night that he wished to do 
so in the morning." 

"Ah! That's what I mean," said Tom. "Do you know 
where he is to-night?" — with a very deep expression. 

"No." 

SCH. IN COM. — 24 



370 CHARLES DICKENS 

"Then I'll tell you. He's with old Bounderby. They are 
having a regular confab together up at the Bank. Why at the 
Bank, do you think? Well, I'll tell you again. To keep 
Mrs. Sparsit's ears as far off as possible, I expect." 

With her hand upon her brother's shoulder, Louisa still 
stood looking at the fire. Her brother glanced at her face with 
greater interest than usual, and encircling her waist with his 
arm, drew her coaxingly to him. 

"You are very fond of me, ain't you. Loo?" 

" Indeed I am, Tom, though you do let such long intervals 
go by without coming to see me." 

"Well, sister of mine," said Tom, "when you say that, you 
are near my thoughts. We might be so much oftener together 
— mightn 't we ? Always together, almost — mightn't we ? It 
would do me a great deal of good if you were to make up your 
mind to I know what. Loo. It would be a splendid thing for 
me. It would be uncommonly jolly! " 

Her thoughtfulness bafQed his cunning scrutiny. He could 
make nothing of her face. He pressed her in his arm, and 
kissed her cheek. She returned the kiss, but still looked at 
the fire. 

"I say. Loo! I thought I'd come, and just hint to you what 
was going on, though I supposed you'd most likely guess, 
even if you didn't know. I can't stay, because I'm engaged 
to some fellows to-night. You won't forget how fond you are 
of me?" 

"No, dear Tom, I won't forget." 

" That's a capital girl," said Tom. " Good-by, Loo." 

She gave him an affectionate good-night, and went out with 
him to the door, whence the fires of Coketown could be seen, 
making the distance lurid. She stood there, looking stead- 
fastly towards them, and listening to his departing steps. 
They retreated quickly, as glad to get away from Stone Lodge ; 
and she stood there yet, when he was gone and all was quiet. 
It seemed as if, first in her own fire within the house, and then 
in the fiery haze without, she tried to discover what kind of 



THE GliADGEINB SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 371 

woof Old Time, that greatest and longest-established spinner 
of all, would weave from the threads he had already spun into 
a woman. But his factory is a secret place, his work is noise- 
less, and his hands are mutes. 

XI. Father and Daughter 

Although Mr. Gradgrind did not take after Bluebeard, 
his room was quite a blue chamber in its abundance of blue 
books. Whatever they could prove (which is usually anything 
you like), they proved there, in an army constantly strength- 
ening by the arrival of new recruits. In that charmed apart- 
ment, the most complicated social questions were cast up, got 
into exact totals, and finally settled — if those concerned could 
only have been brought to know it. As if an astronomical 
observatory should be made without any windows, and the 
astronomer within should arrange the starry universe solely by 
pen, ink, and paper, so Mr. Gradgrind, in his Observatory 
(and there are many like it), had no need to cast an eye upon 
the teeming myriads of human beings around him, but could 
settle all their destinies on a slate, and wipe out all their tears 
with one dirty little bit of sponge. 

To this Observatory, then, a stern room, with a deadly sta- 
tistical clock in it, which measured every second with a beat 
like a rap upon a coffin lid, Louisa repaired on the appointed 
morning. A window looked towards Coketown ; and when she 
sat down near her father's table, she saw the high chimneys 
and the long tracts of smoke looming in the heavy distance 
gloomily. 

"My dear Louisa," said her father, "I prepared 3^ou last 
night to give me your serious attention in the conversation we 
are now going to have together. You have been so well trained, 
and you do, I am happy to say, so much justice to the educa- 
tion you have received, that I have perfect confidence in your 
good sense. You are not impulsive, you are not romantic, you 
are accustomed to view everything from the strong, dispassion- 



372 CHARLES DICKENS 

ate groQiid of reason and calculation. From that ground alone, 
I know you will view and consider what I am going to com- 
municate." 

He waited, as if he would have been glad that she said some- 
thing. But she said never a word. 

" Louisa, my dear, you are the subject of a proposal of mar- 
riage that has been made to me." 

Again he waited, and again she answered not one word. 
This so far surprised him, as to induce him gently to repeat, 
"a proposal of marriage, my dear." To which she returned, 
without any visible emotion whatever: 

"I hear you. Father. I am attending, I assure you." 

"Well!" said Mr. Gradgrind, breaking into a smile, after 
being for the moment at a loss, "you are even more dispas- 
sionate than I expected, Louisa. Or, perhaps, you are not 
unprepared for the announcement I have it in charge to 
make?" 

" I cannot say that. Father, until I hear it. Prepared or un- 
prepared, I wish to hear it all from you. I wish to hear you 
state it to me. Father." 

Strange to relate, Mr. Gradgrind was not so collected at this 
moment as his daughter was. He took a paper knife in his 
hand, turned it over, laid it down, took it up again, and even 
then had to look along the blade of it, considering how to 
go on. 

" What you say, my dear Louisa, is perfectly reasonable. I 
have undertaken then to let you know that — in short, that 
Mr. Bounderby has informed me that he has long watched your 
progress with particular interest and pleasure, and has long 
hoped that the time might ultimately arrive when he should 
offer you his hand in marriage. That time, to which he has so 
long, and certainly with great constancy, looked forward, is 
now come. Mr. Bounderby has made his proposal of marriage 
to me, and has entreated me to make it known to you, and to 
express his hope that you will take it into your favorable con- 
sideration," 



THE GBADGHIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 873 

Silence between them. The deadly statistical clock very 
hollow. The distant smoke very black and heavy. 

"Father," said Louisa, "do you think I love Mr. Boun- 
derby?" 

Mr. Gradgrind was extremely discomfited by this unexpected 
question. "Well, my child," he returned, "I — really — can- 
not take upon myself to say." 

"Father," pursued Louisa in exactly the same voice as be- 
fore, "do you ask me to love Mr. Bounderby?" 

"My dear Louisa, no. No. I ask nothing." 

"Father," she still pursued, "does Mr. Bounderby ask me 
to love him?" 

"Really, my dear," said Mr. Gradgrind, "it is difficult to 
answer your question — " 

"Difficult to answer it, 'Yes ' or 'No,' fatiier?" 

"Certainly, my dear. Because" — here was something to 
demonstrate, and it set him up again — " because the reply de- 
pends so materially, Louisa, on the sense in which we use the 
expression. Now, Mr. Bounderby does not do you the injus- 
tice, and does not do himself the injustice, of pretending to 
anything fanciful, fantastic, or (I am using the synonymous 
terms) sentimental. Mr. Bounderby would have seen you 
grow up under his eyes, to very little purpose, if he could so 
far forget what is due to your good sense, not to say to his, as 
to address you from any such ground. Therefore, perhaps the 
expression itself — I merely suggest this to you, my dear — 
may be a little misplaced." 

"What would you advise me to use in its stead, Father?" 

"Why, my dear Louisa," said Mr. Gradgrind, completely 
recovered by this time, "I would advise you (since you ask 
me) to consider this question, as you have been accustomed to 
consider every other question, simply as one of tangible Fact. 
The ignorant and the giddy may embarrass such subjects with 
irrelevant fancies, and other absurdities that have no exist- 
ence, properly viewed — really no existence — but it is no com- 
pliment to you to say that you know better. Now, what are 



374 CHARLES DICKENS 

the Facts of this case ? You are, we will say in round numbers, 
twenty years of age; Mr. Bounderby is, we will say in round 
numbers, fifty. There is some disparity in your respective 
years, but in your means and positions there is none; on the 
contrary, there is a great suitability. Then the question 
arises ! Is this one disparity sufficient to operate as a bar to such 
a marriage ? In considering this question, it is not unimpor- 
tant to take into account the statistics of marriage, so far as 
they have yet been obtained, in England and Wales. I find, 
on reference to the figures, that a large proportion of these 
marriages are contracted between parties of very unequal ages, 
and that the elder of these contracting parties is, in rather more 
than three fourths of these instances, the bridegroom. It is 
remarkable as showing the wide prevalence of this law, that 
among the natives of the British possessions in India, also in 
a considerable part of China, and among the Calmucks of Tar- 
tary, the best means of computation yet furnished us by trav- 
elers, yield similar results. The disparity I have mentioned, 
therefore, almost ceases to be disparity, and (virtually) all but 
disappears." 

"What do you recommend, Father," asked Louisa, her re- 
served composure not in the least affected by these gratifying 
results, "that I should substitute for the term I used just now? 
For the misplaced expression?" 

"Louisa," returned her father, "it appears to me that noth- 
ing can be plainer. Confining yourself rigidly to Fact, the 
question of Fact you state to yourself is. Does Mr. Bounderby 
ask me to marry him? Yes, he does. The sole remaining 
question then is, Shall I marry him? I think nothing can be 
plainer than that?" 

"Shall I marry him?" repeated Louisa, with great delibera- 
tion. 

"Precisely. And it is satisfactory to me, as your father, my 
dear Louisa, to know that jou do not come to the consideration 
of that question with the previous habits of mind, and habits 
of life, that belong to many young women." 



THE GBABGRIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 375 

"No, Father," she returned, "I do not." 

"1 now leave you to judge for yourself, "said Mr. Gradgrind. 
"I have stated the case, as such cases are usually stated among 
practical minds; J have stated it as the case of your mother 
and myself was stated in its time. The rest, my dear Louisa, 
is for you to decide." 

From the beginning, she had sat looking at him fixedly. As 
he now leaned back in his chair, and bent his deep-set eyes 
upon her in his turn, perhaps he might have seen one waver- 
ing moment in her, when she was impelled to throw herself 
upon his breast, and give him the pent-up confidences of her 
heart. But, to see it, he must have overleaped at a bound the 
artificial barriers he had for many years been erecting, between 
himself and all those subtle essences of humanity which will 
elude the utmost cunning of algebra until the last trumpet ever 
to be sounded shall blow even algebra to wreck. The barriers 
were too many and too high for such a leap. With his un- 
bending, utilitarian, matter-of-fact face, he hardened her again; 
and the moment shot away into the plumbless depths of the 
past, to mingle with all the lost opportunities that are drowned 
there. 

Removing her eyes from him, she sat so long looking silently 
towards the town, that he said, at length: "Are you consult- 
ing the chimneys of the Coketown works, Louisa?" 

" There seems to be nothing there but languid and monoto- 
nous smoke. Yet when the night comes, fire bursts out. 
Father ! " she answered, turning quickly. 

" Of course I know that, Louisa. I do not see the applica- 
tion of the remark." To do him justice he did not, at all. 

She passed it away with a slight motion of her hand, and 
concentrating her attention upon him again, said, "Father, I 
have often thought that life is very short." — This was so 
distinctly one of his subjects that he interposed. 

" It is short, no doubt, my dear. Still, the average duration 
of human life is proved to have increased of late years. The 
calculations of various life assurance and annuity offices, among 



376 CHABLES DICKENS 

other figures which cannot go wrong, have established the 
fact." 

"I speak of my own life, Father." 

"O indeed? Still," said Mr. Gradgrind, "I need not point 
out to you, Louisa, that it is governed by the laws which 
govern lives in the aggregate." 

" While it lasts, I would wish to do the little I can, and the 
little I am fit for. What does it matter?" 

Mr. Gradgrind seemed rather at a loss to understand the last 
four words; replying, "How matter? What matter, my 
dear?" 

"Mr. Bounderby," she went on in a steady, straight way, 
without regarding this, " asks me to marry him. The question 
I have to ask myself is, shall I marry him ? That is so, Father, 
is it not? You have told me so. Father. Have you not?" 

"Certainly, my dear." 

" Let it be so. Since Mr. Bounderby likes to take me thus, I 
am satisfied to accept his proposal. Tell him. Father, as soon as 
you please, that this was my answer. Repeat it, word for word, 
if you can, because I should wish him to know what I said." 

"It is quite right, my Dear, " retorted her father approvingly, 
"to be exact. I will observe your very proper request. Have 
you any wish in reference to the period of your marriage, my 
child?" 

" None, Father. What does it matter ? " 

Mr. Gradgrind had drawn his chair a little nearer to her, and 
taken her hand. But, her repetition of these words seemed to 
strike with some little discord on his ear. He paused to look 
at her, and, still holding her hand, said : 

"Louisa, I have not considered it essential to ask you one 
question, because the possibility implied in it appeared to me 
to be too remote. But perhaps I ought to do so. You have 
never entertained in secret any other proposal?" 

"Father," she returned, almost scornfully, "what other pro- 
posal can have been made to me 9 Whom have I seen? Where 
have I been ? What are my heart's experiences ? " 



THE GRADGHIND SYSTEM OF EDUCATION 377 

"My dear Louisa," returned Mr. Gradgrind, reassured and 
satisfied. "You correct me justly. I merely wished to dis- 
charge my duty." 

"What do Jknow, Father," said Louisa in her quiet manner, 
"of tastes and fancies, of aspirations and affections, of all that 
part of my nature in which such light things might have been 
nourished? What escape have I had from problems that could 
be demonstrated and realities that could be grasped?" As 
she said it, she unconsciously closed her hand, as if upon a 
solid object, and slowly opened it as though she were releasing 
dust or ash. 

"My Dear," assented her eminently practical parent, "quite 
true, quite true." 

"Why, Father," she pursued, "what a strange question to 
ask me. The baby preference that even I have heard of as 
common among children has never had its innocent resting- 
place in my breast. You have been so careful of me that I 
never had a child's heart. You have trained me so well that 
I never dreamed a child's dream. You have dealt so wisely 
with me. Father, from my cradle to this hour, that I never had 
a child's belief or a child's fear." 

Mr. Gradgrind was quite moved by his success, and by this 
testimony to it. "My dear Louisa," said he, "you abundantly 
repay my care. Kiss me, my dear girl." 

So, his daughter kissed him. Detaining her in his embrace, 
he said, "I may assure you now, my favorite child, that I am 
made happy by the sound decision at which you have arrived. 
Mr. Bounderby is a very remarkable man; and what little 
disparity can be said to exist between you — if any ■ — is more 
than counterbalanced by the tone your mind has acquired. It 
has always been my object so to educate you, as that you might, 
while still in your early youth, be (if I may so express my- 
self) almost any age. Kiss me once more, Louisa. Now, let 
us go and find your mother." 



VII 

GOGOL 

SAXE 
ROBERTSON 



NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

THE FATHER OF RUSSIAN NOVELISTS 

Among the most noted names in the literature of Kussia (with which we 
are becoming so familiar in these later days) is that of Nikolai Vassilievitch 
Gogol. 

He was born in 1809, at Poltava, in Southern Russia, a place rendered 
famous in the wars of Peter the Great. Gogol's father was a military 
officer, a " Regimental Secretary " of the Cossacks ; and the son, from his 
earliest years, was familiar with the rigors of absolute government, military 
and civil. The youth was prepared for college at the Mejin Gymnasium, 
and at the age of twenty years was admitted to the University of St. Peters- 
burg. At the same time he published a poem entitled Italy, and an Idyll. 
The latter, which was signed " V. Alof," was bitterly condemned. A year 
later he struck a popular chord by contributing to a periodical a series of 
sketches of real life entitled Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka. To these 
sketches he appended the pseudonym " Rudy Panks." 

The success of this series of compositions brought him early recognition, 
and he planned a vast History of Modern Europe, to fill fifteen volumes, also 
a History of Little Russia, of no mean proportions. He was made a professor 
in the University, where he proved a failure after a short experience. 

Resigning, at the age of twenty-seven years, he devoted himself to liter- 
ature. It w^as a precarious calling. The blight of despotism rested on aU 
classes in his country, and most of all upon the defenseless masses of the 
people. To attack abuses openly would lead inevitably to banishment and 
a living death in Siberia. Yet write he must, for he had a mission. With 
strange daring he produced under a pseudonym a play in which the odious 
officialism of the Russian inspectors was vividly portrayed. This drama. 
The Reviser (government inspector), was fiercely condemned by the officials 
whom it depicted. Gogol learned caution. His future criticisms must be 
veiled under forms which could not be impeached. Though his novel 
might be a powerful exposition of flagrant wTong, it must appear to be 
only dull and stupid and pointless. So it happens that Gogol's great works 
are apparently destitute of plot or of character, — prosy, humdrum, tedious 
recitals of stupid nothings, though they bear beneath their surface the 
message of a great soul to his nation and to his century. 

381 



382 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

Gogol's greatest work is his Mertvuiya Dushi, or Dead Souls,^ which was 
written in two parts. The first of these was published in 1842. The second 
was written in later years. The author's spirit of unrest was manifested 
in his life, as well as in his writings. He spent some years in other lands 
of Southern Europe. He made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1848. Four 
years later he died at Moscow. 

Translations from the Russian tongue are not apt to be very satisfactory. 
The French rendering of the Dead Souls is probably the best reproduction 
of the novel in another tongue. But there is much of delicate insinuation 
and suggestiveness that is not perceived in any form of the work other 
than the Russian. Gogol's writings will probably long survive, after the 
conditions which called them forth shall have passed away in the reorgani- 
zation of Eastern Europe. The author is intensely in earnest, however 
dull and phlegmatic he may seem. His pictures of life are worthy of 
careful study, as typifying a social and political system with which the 
spu'it of our age is at war. 

" The steps which Gogol took indicated the direction in which the Rus- 
sian novel was destined to move. In his excellent book, Le Roman Russe, 
Melchior de Vogue quotes a statement from a later writer that they all 
dated from Gogol's Cloak. This Cloak is a story about a Department clerk, 
and the author's whole art is devoted to representing the innocent pettiness 
and insignificance of the poor wretch, whose sole interest in life consists in 
copying, and whose sole ambition is to own a new cloak. When at last he 
gets one, his little soul is filled with happiness ; but the very same evenmg 
he is waylaid by ruffians and robbed of his new treasm^e, and, in conse- 
quence, he dies of a broken heart. This is certainly a simple tale so far as 
the plot goes, but the plot is not everything ; the way in which the clerk's 
state of mind is drawn burns deep into the reader's attention, so great is 
Gogol's directness, so serious is his treatment of a case that stands as a rep- 
resentative of general misery. The unhappy hero is not turned to ridicule, 

— the Russian novelists are wholly free from contempt for any of the weak- 
nesses that they study and describe, — because the writer sees that the poor 
man's petty life and meager joys are all that is left to him in a country 
where men seem to live in a perpetual twilight. A microscopist is as likely 
to laugh at the animalcules he is examining as Gogol is to sneer at these 
dwarfed victims of despotism. 

" Mere entertainment would be a degrading aim for a Russian novelist 

— that is, the luxury of ease and security, and not even the masters in that 

1 The title means, really, dead serfs ; for the Russian word for sold was uni- 
versally applied to the serfs of the empire, in the days preceding the emancipa- 
tion. 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 383 

country know either of these. All writing is under the control of a vigi- 
lant censorship; students are forbidden access to what are regarded as 
dangerous books ; yet the novel, by confining itself to the representation of 
familiar or possible facts, manages to elude repression. Even the sharpest- 
eyed censor does not read what is written between the lines ; but it is this 
part, printed, as it were, in invisible ink, that helps to fill out the terrible 
picture of despair that almost every Russian novel contains. 

"Indeed, as a valuable means of drill in the technicalities of literature, 
despotism has never received from writers upon education half the praise 
that it deserves. The writer is sure to be careful in his phraseology when 
a rash word may mean life-long exile ; and one of the results of the terrors 
of the Russian penal code was that novelists learned compression and vigor, 
as well as all the possibilities of seriousness. We find this forcible reserve 
even during the brief flowering time of romanticism, which is yet enriched 
by precise and vivid realism. Gogol's Dead Souls owes but little of its 
merit to ingenious toying with local superstitions, or to the aid of the super- 
natural. Far from it ; it is its naturalness that makes the book impressive, 
as the hero wanders from one part of Russia to another, buying the names of 
dead serfs, in order to employ these lists of apparent belongings as security 
on which to borrow money. His roving necessitates a number of different 
pictures, so that in a single frame we find many separate scenes of Russian 
life; and the total impression is one of deep gloom. It is easy to understand 
why Pushkin, on reading it, should have said, 'What a dreary country 
Russia is ! ' And if other proof were needed, it might be found in the 
gloomy end of Gogol's own life, which was embittered by his absolute 
uncongeniality with his surroundings, and, indeed, by madness." 

— Thomas Sergeant Perry. 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 

(From Dead Souls) 

Why should an author always depict poverty and the 
miseries of life, and people from the ends of our provinces, 
the remote nooks and corners of our country? But what if 
that is his vocation — if, for his part, conscious of and laboring 
under his own limitations, he is able to think onli/ of the 
imperfections and the miseries of life ; and if, leaving to the 
large cities their graces and their culture, he can represent only 
the people of the cantons far removed from the seat of empire ? 



384 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

There is no way to prevent him. And here we are again, 
falling back into the solitudes and recesses of our provinces. 
But ah, what solitudes and what recesses ! 

There is presented to us now an endless chain of hills, like 
gigantic ramparts of some immense fortress, with bastions 
pierced by portholes, running sinuously and throwing their 
shadows, cut into zigzag, for a distance of hundreds of kilo- 
meters. The mountains rise magnificently from the plain, 
like perpendicular walls of calcareous limestone, parti-colored, 
streaked, and hollowed out, with cascades of pure water, with 
fissures, and with cavities ; swelling out with turfy breasts, 
covered as with a lamb's fleece by living shoots, clasped by 
the roots of fallen timber, and receding in somber thickets 
of trees that have escaped by some miracle from the devas- 
tation of the ax. 

The river, here faithful to its banks, plows its way beyond 
in bends and curves, and then wanders among the prairies and, 
having gained by a hundred capricious currents a free space, 
expands into a broad mirror, which reflects the brightness of 
the sun and the deep shadows of a group of birch, ash, and 
elder trees. Farther on, it escapes in triumph past bridges, 
mills, and dikes, which themselves seem to be running a race 
with it, and to be forced to stop, outdone, at each sudden 
detour of the coquette. 

It is a place where the rapid current, making a turn, flings 
itself onward with great force into the woods, and disappears 
under the ample and luxuriant foliage. It seems a place of 
rendezvous for the vegetable armies of the North and the 
South. The oak, the fir, the wild pear, the maple, the cherry, 
the thorn, the beech, the aspen, the service tree, the ivy, and 
the hop, all entangled, rest one upon another, and strive to 
climb, followed by the impotent bindweed, — grasping and 
netting themselves together, and forced out horizontally, so as 
to cover all that part of the mountain with a wreath of such 
extent and complication as to recall, even to a savage, the 
foliage of a virgin forest. 



TENTETNIKOF AJSD UlS TEACHERS 385 

Over all that sea of verdure, above the bright spots which 
form at its base double peaks of yellow, rose, and celestial blue, 
shoot up the red roofs of a lordly dwelling, the gables of 
neighboring cottages, and the crowning top of the Master's 
house, ornamented by a porch and by a great arched window ; 
and higher than all the vast mass of woods and of roofs, an 
ancient church holds aloft its five spires of glittering gold, 
while at the base of the spires are five Greek crosses of open- 
work, secured by beautiful gilded chains, so that from afar 
they seem to burn in the air without any apparent support, 
with golden streams of ducal splendor and of miraculous play. 
And all this mass — spires, roofs, and crosses — is reflected in 
inverted order in the coves of the river below. There the 
evergreens, of sweet resinous odor, some along the bank and 
others deeply immersed in the water, bend their branches to 
the stream and dip their stems among the light river sponge 
which floats on the surface as though to join itself to the water 
lilies ; and in that thoughtful solitude they seem to contemplate 
the wavering reflection of the spires of the old church. 

Seen from below, all this was very beautiful ; but the view 
which was to be enjoyed from the porch steps or from the 
balcony or the windows of the lordly mansion enhanced it 
greatly. No friend of the proprietor of this panorama could 
remain unmoved at the spectacle. Every visitor, on beholding 
it, drew a full breath and exclaimed : 

" Heavens, what a beautiful picture ! " 

In fact, the observer gazed at this point through boundless 
space. Beyond were prairies, diversified by groves and marked 
with water mills. Belts of forest lay in green, far away. 
Through the thin atmosphere shone the buff of distant sand. 
Then again were woods, but bluish, like the sea, or like mists 
softened by distance ; then more sand, but paler than the first, 
though having still a tint of cream or straw color. At the 
verge of the horizon appeared, like an uneven and winding 
palisade, beautiful mountain peaks which gleamed with white 
light even through the storms, as though it were theirs to be 

SCH. IN COM. — 25 



386 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

ever bathed in sunsliine. By the aid of their spectral light 
were seen at their bases confused spots which seemed to be 
covered with a fleece of smoke. They were villages ; but the 
distance was so great that the eye could not have recognized 
them, even with a glass, as groups of dwellings if there had not 
appeared, at certain times of the day, one or two bright flashes 
shooting up and remaining under the rays of the sun, on the 
top of the gilded steeple of the church, showing that this was 
the center of a mass of population. 

All this was enveloped in a calm which was broken only by 
the singers of the air, their songs to be confounded with the 
whistle of winds, the murmurs of caves, the gurgle of waters, 
;the rustle of leaves, — songs lost in the general harmony of the 
magnificent whole. Indeed, lingering upon the balcony of the 
lordly home, no one was able, even after two or three hours, to 
say anything but this: 

" O God, how grand, how beautiful is the work of thy hands! " 

Who was the owner, the proprietor, and Lord of this crown- 
ing village, which, as an impregnable fortress, one could reach 
only from below, and which could be captured only from the 
other side ? 

Scattered oaks graciously greeted the visitor, holding out 
their branches to bid him welcome, and led him to the gable o^^ 
the same house, the top of which we have seen from behind. 
The mansion appeared now in all the pride of its front, having 
on one side a long row of cottage gables, a balcony, and pointed 
peaks ; on the other, the towering - church, which shone in its 
gilded carvings high above, in the homage of the creature to 
the Creator. 

To what privileged man belonged this seeming paradise, this 
little Eden of the district of Tremalakchaneki ? ^ 

To Andrew Ivanovitch Tentetnikof, a young gentleman of 
thirty-three years, a bachelor. 



1 The District of Tremalakcliaiieki is in the extreme east of European Russia, 
in tlie Ural mountain region. 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 387 

But what is he, and who is he ? What are his habits, man- 
ners, character, — what sort of a man is he ? 

There, there, gentle reader, I believe there is nothing better 
to do than to question his neighbors. To begin with, his neigh- 
bor Brandorof, who belongs to the class (now extinct) of old- 
time handsome and gallant officers in retirement. This man 
applied to Andrew Ivanovitch the somewhat harsh expression, 
"a perfect brute." 

A brave General, whose possessions and homestead are sit^ 
uated ten versts from those of Andrew Ivanovitch, said : 

'' Andrew Ivanovitch is not a fool, it is true ; but his head is 
full of chimeras. I could be useful to him, for I have plenty 
of influential relatives in St. Petersburg, even in commanding 
positions — " The General did not finish his sentence. 

The Chief of Police, being interrogated, gave this turn to his 
reply : 

" Andrew Ivanovitch is a gentleman, but his blood is low. 
To-morrow I am going to present to him a bill of arrears, which 
won't please him much." 

Peasants, when asked about their Master, kept silence. Prob- 
ably there is good reason for concluding that public opinion con- 
cerning him is rather unfavorable than otherwise in the district. 

To speak without prejudice, Andrew Ivanovitch is not a bad 
man, but really he is but a sky smoker. ^ Heavens I How 
many men there are who do nothing through long years but 
send up smoke to the vault of the sky ! And why should not 
Tentetnikof also have the largest amount of leisure to smoke ? 
Now, for an example of my good will, here is the detail of one 
day of his life ; and since all the other days are the same with 
him, the reader can form his own idea of the character of this 
man, and judge how far his life corresponds to the beauty 
around him. 



1 That is to say, a fly-catcher (trifler), an idler, an utterly useless person, who 
beats the water to make waves, who smokes in order to do something, and has 
no other employment for his ten fingers than to hold the stem of his pipe with 
the most serious air in the world. — Note by Charriere. 



388 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

He woke very late in the morning and, without quitting his 
bed, he remained a long time rubbing his eyes ; and as these 
were unfortunately small, he rubbed them for half an hour 
without making them big. During all this time his servant 
Mikhailo stood without his chamber door, holding an ewer, 
placed in a large copper bowl, and covered with an ample 
towel. An hour passed in this way ; then the Master yawned, 
stretched himself, dreamed. Poor Mikhailo, tired of standing, 
^et down his burden, went back to the kitchen, and returned 
to see if his Master, still reclining on the bed, was fully awake. 
Finally Andrew Ivanovitch washed himself with a great deal 
of water and much noise, donned his chamber robe, and walked 
with slow steps to a little parlor to partake of tea, coffee, cocoa, 
and even a little warm milk, — all slowly, a spoonful at a time, 
— with a great waste of bread crumbled on the floor among 
the arshes of his pipe. He devoted two hours to this pastime. 
Then he fortified himself with a cup of tea, poured out to cool, 
and went, cup in hand, to a window looking out on the court. 
Under the window at that time occurred, each day, the follow- 
ing scene. At first it was Grigori who roared — Grigori the 
butler, calling to Perfilievna the housekeeper : 

" Ah, you infernal hag,'* he bawled, " can't a jade like you 
keep still a moment ? " 

" Won't you hold your tongue ? " shouted the old woman, 
pointing her thumb and making a grimace — for she was very 
coarse, in spite of her love for the delicacies confided to her 
care. 

" Doesn't everybody know your connivance with the stew- 
ard ? The steward is a thief of the same kind. And do you 
suppose that the Master doesn't know about both of you? 
He's here. He knows it all, and hears it all, I'm sure." 

" Where is the Master ? " 

"At the window. He sees and hears it all, I tell you." 

And, in fact, the Master was there, and did see. But what 
did he hear ? A young child, who was receiving a whipping 
from its mother, cried like a little fiend. A dog of the lower 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 389 

court howled frightfully, having been scalded by a wretched 
scullion who almost fainted with laughter at the kitchen door 
to see the animal roll in agony on the grass. All was life, 
action, animation. There was enough for the Master to see 
and to hear. Was it not a contrast to himself ? But it was 
only when the uproar became unendurable, interrupting the 
easy idleness of body and mind which was habitual with him, 
that he woke from his vegetative languor and his moral stupor 
and commanded the servants to be more quiet. 

Two hours before dinner he passed in his study, engaged 
upon a work which was to embrace Russia considered under 
all its aspects, — civil, political, religious, philosophical ; to dis- 
cuss the embarrassing problems which were presented at the 
time, and to outline clearly a great future. In brief, it included 
everything, and in the fullness which is affected by the publicists 
of our day. But up to this hour, the colossal enterprise is only 
an ideal. It is true that in rare moments, and at long inter- 
vals, he has taken his pen, and some embryos have appeared 
on his paper. But all this is thrown aside and buried under 
the blotting papers,^ and the great publicist of the future 
takes up some book, which doesn't leave his hands until dinner 
time. The book is opened and closed, taken up and laid down, 
a hundred times during the relish, the roast, and the dessert, 
so that some of the dishes grow cold and others are carried 
away untouched. Then comes the pipe, then the coffee ; then 
the Master plays a game of checkers with and against himself. 
What he does between this game and supper is very difficult to 
say. However, I believe I should do the Master no wrong in 
intimating my theory that he does nothing at all. 

Thus it was that a young man of thirty-three passed his time 
in solitude, so that one may consider him as sitting for three or 
four hours at a time each day, with intervening walks of ten or 
twelve minutes, always in his chamber robe and without a 

1 In this great scheme of Teiitetnikof and its miserable conclusion, and per- 
haps ill other descriptions relating to the same personage, Gogol is portraying 
his own experience. 



390 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

necktie. He did not go out for a stroll, to exercise either on 
foot or on his horse, nor did he even open his window to air out 
his apartment ; and the admirable view, which none of his rare 
guests could contemplate without emotion, had no existence so 
far as the Master of the fields and villages was concerned. 
From all this, the reader will see that Andrew Ivanovitch 
Tentetnikof belonged to a family of those Russians whose 
characterization wholly eludes translation, and who were for- 
merly called ouvalni, legehoki^ or haihaki^^ and whom I know 
not what to call now, for want of a modern sobriquet. 

Are such characters born spontaneously, or are they formed 
by an aggregation of successive imprints and of traits resulting 
from circumstances ? Instead of answering in three words, as 
I would have a right to do, I shall be liberal enough to relate 
the story of his education. 

In the years of his infancy and of his youth, everything 
seemed to conspire to favor him. As a child of twelve years, 
intelligent, thoughtful, a little given to dreaming, a little bad, 
he had the good fortune to go to a public school which was 
then under the charge of an extraordinary man. The school- 
master was the idol of the youths ; Alexander Petrovitch ^ — 
that was his name — had the psculiar gift of recognizing even 
in a small child the nature of the future man. And how well 
did he know the true Russian heart and character ! How 
thoroughly and perfectly did he understand each of the pupils 
of his school ! How he exerted himself to stimulate them ! 
There was not a prankish youth who did not come voluntarily 
to him, after an escapade, with a full confession of his fault. 



1 Drones, stay-at-homes, recluses. 

2 Alexander Petrovitcli is exceptional among the characters of Gogol. Gen- 
erally the author seeks to portray the Russians as they are, or were in his time. 
In this instance Gogol depicts his ideal of an educator and of an educational 
system. With the zeal of a reformer he unfolds his plan of education by a sort 
of natural selection, in which the dull and the idle are speedily eliminated from 
the schools, and the want of lofty aspiration is punished by the contempt of the 
successful. Gogol's ideal teacher is a man of intense and wonderful personal- 
ity, — " an incomparable instructor, a mentor, a Socrates." 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 391 

Moreover, the penitent would go away, not with downcast 
look, but with head erect, for he had a firm purpose to atone 
for his error. Even in the reproofs of Alexander Petrovitch 
there was something encouraging, something — I know not 
what — which said, "Let your slips serve to raise you higher." 
True philosopher that he was, he defined self-love as a force 
which gives impulse to the faculties of a man; and he took 
care to handle the cords of this marvelous machine. He 
loved to say : 

"• I want a person to have a mind, and that is all I require. 
He who aspires to develop his mind has no time for folly. The 
mischief of childhood will disappear of itself." 

And, in fact, under his instruction prankishness passed for 
stupidity. The pupil who did not seek to give evidence of 
brains — to become a good scholar — was soon the butt of ridi- 
cule and of contempt to his companions. The big dolts and 
imbeciles were covered with obnoxious sobriquets, and these 
from the mouths of the smallest pupils, on whom they did not 
dare to lay a finger. 

" Ah, that is too severe," said many a person to the school- 
master, astonished at his system. " Your young men of brains 
will become insolent." 

"No," he would say, "it is the plan for me. It is my rule 
not to keep the incapables long. For the bad and the weak, 
one course is fully enough. For boys with brains, who don't 
pout, I have another." 

The least activity of their intelligence was known to him. 
He seemed to notice nothing, to see nothing; but it was as 
though he had been rendered invisible and, by a magic gift, was 
all sight, all hearing, with the power to distinguish nicely, from 
the center of his atmosphere of impassibility, the faculties and 
the inclinations of his pupils. He let alone their peccadilloes 
to some extent, finding it advantageous for his own enlighten- 
ment, to find in their mischief a significant hint of the qualities 
of their hearts. He would say to the grave men who ques- 
tioned him in good faith on this apparent laxity, that the moral 



392 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCR GOGOL 

outbreaks of children were as indispensable to him as are the 
eruptions of the skin to the physician, impatient to learn by the 
symptoms the true nature of the humors and affections of all 
the physical system in its maladies. 

Alexander Petrovitch was adored by his pupils. There were 
those who were much less attached to their own parents. I 
will go farther, and say that in many who had come to the age 
of foolish outbursts, their warmest passions yielded in strength 
to the love which they felt for him. Even to his last day, to his 
last breath, the pupil recognized the birthday of his dear Master, 
and gesticulated, at least, even with fever-weakened arm, as if 
drinking to the health of the wise friend, who had been long 
in the tomb. Then he closed his eyes and did pious homage in 
tears. 

There were many scientific notions in reference to our Rus- 
sian world which the teacher deemed superfluous, and even 
harmful to the development which he desired for each of his 
pupils — much of the needless and stupid intellectual gymnas- 
tics which the French introduced among us, as genteel recrea- 
tions. ^ He substituted for them various employments which 
afforded physical exercise, under the sheds, and in all the cor- 
ners and nooks of the campus and of the gardens. 

He gave little time to the pupils of small intellectual endow- 
ments. The course of study for these unfortunate ones was 
purposely shortened. On the other hand, well-endowed youths 
had before them the prospect of a course of study nearly double 
the amount which was offered anywhere else, and they entered 
upon it with pride. Besides, there was a higher class reserved 
for select scholars — a class which bore no resemblance to the 
post-graduate system of other schools. Of this class of young 
men well trained to his hand, he required what some others 
foolishly exact from the poor fellows who have not yet had time 

1 Probably these were acting charades, verse games, dances, fencing, "hot 
cockles" and "pigeon flights" (French diversions for children), with all the 
accompaniments of forfeits and penalties — all sorts of little games, and perhaps 
also juvenile theatricals. Note what a mass of such importations was brought 



TENTETNIKOF AND fllS TEACHERS 393 

to learn human life — that higher self-command by which they 
can abstain from mirth and raillery while hearing raillery among 
others, leaving a shallow-pate or fool free to work his will, and 
caring nothing for getting even with him ; living in a perpetual 
calmness and dignity of soul, which insures a healthy judgment. 
All that a scholar, a conscientious man, a man of courage and of 
principle must do, he gave them in a nutshell ; and the school- 
master himself illustrated it all in his actions. O, how profoundly 
versed was that man in the science of life ! He had about him 
but few other teachers. He did most of the teaching himself. 
He abstained from the sesquipedalian words so dear to pedants, 
and from all the infinitesimal subtleties so common among 
shallow brains nourished with abstractions ; and from his lips 
came only the very soul of science, so that even a child could 
discern clearly the end and the use of all. 

Of all the sciences he held to those only which develop the 
useful citizen, the worthy son of the fatherland. Many a 
recitation hour was devoted to explaining to the young men 
what was in store for them on their entrance upon the world 
and in the course of their lives. He unveiled to the youth, 
the whole horizon of manhood, with its coloring and its detail, 
so vividly, so naturally, that the pupils, seated upon their 
benches, beheld themselves already sworn to their country's 
service, and lived in her future. All the sorrows, the tempta- 
tions, the scandals which presented their seductions to him, he 
referred to them. He presented these in all their nakedness, 
with nothing to shade their features, so that the boys should 
not learn from him how deformity may be disguised. So 
perfectly was it all known to him, it was remarked that he 
himself must have passed through every rank and vocation 
of life. 

Was it because a native ambition was already excited to a 
lively degree, and in the very look of the sympathetic school- 
about by the French nobles who, at the time of the Emigration, were the pre- 
ceptors and models of nearly all the Russian families that are most eminent at 
the present time. Gogol was inclined to utilitarianism. — Note by Charriere. 



394 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

master they seemed to read the watchword " Forward ! " — that 
eminently Russian word, which finds so many echoes in the 
home of the Russian, working marvels in his inmost soul? Or 
was it from some other cause which we have not grasped? 
Certain it is that in this institution the child had scarcely 
reached the adolescent age when he hungered and thirsted for 
trials, labors, activities ; and the departing pupil aspired to 
employments in which there were the most obstacles to over- 
come, where the soul must display its greatest energies. Few 
were admitted to the higher course. But those who passed 
through it were strong men, men who, in the public service, 
within a few months established a reputation of being armored 
in bronze against all that might seek admission to their hearts 
to weaken or to corrupt them. They held their ground firm 
and pure in the most insecure places, while many others, vastly 
more clever at scheming than they, gave up to little personal 
discomfitures and abandoned their places, or, yielding to stronger 
wills, succumbed to indolence and found themselves the prey 
of peculators and sharpers. 

The old pupils of Alexander Petrovitch held on well. They 
had a correct idea of life and of human vices ; and since — 
thanks to their treasury of wisdom — they seemed the very 
incarnations of austere and courageous probity, they were not 
slow to exercise an inevitable, irresistible ascendency over even 
the most corrupt. 

The personality of this excellent schoolmaster made a very 
profound impression upon Andrew Ivanovitch Tentetnikof, 
while the latter was yet very young. The impetuous soul of 
the ambitious child struggled long and stoutly in the hope that 
he should reach the higher course. Tentetnikof, at the age of 
sixteen years, reached this goal, and could scarcely believe that 
he was really so fortunate — when, at that very time, a great 
blow fell u.pon him. This unparalleled teacher, whose every 
word of encouragement had caused the student's heart to flutter, 
fell very ill and soon afterward prematurely died. What a 
terrible stroke was this to the young man ! What an unspeak- 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 395 

able loss lie sustained in the death of this cherished school- 
master ! 

A single month had scarcely passed when he found that all 
was changed in the school. In the place of Alexander Petro- 
vitcli appeared a certain Feodor Ivanovitch. He was a very 
zealous man, but one without capacity. He demanded (as all 
his class do) of children what can be reasonably required only 
of adults. In the playful ebullitions of the little ones, he 
would see only disorder and license. He established a system 
of punishments for the least exhibition of frolicksomeness — 
which immediately resulted in secret delinquencies. Every- 
thing seemed tightened by a binding cord during the day, and 
there was then not a trace of disorder. But night came, and 
was given up to frolics. There was no gain from the change, 
but certain loss. 

So far as the sciences were concerned, the innovation was 
no less remarkable. Strangers were called in. New teachers 
came, with new lines, new angles, new points of view. The 
young listeners accustomed themselves to train their ears and 
their memories to a deluge of new phrases and unknown words. 
Each of the teachers developed his lectures, his logic, his entire 
system of instruction independently, having no regard for con- 
sistency or harmony with those of his colleagues. Each one 
bristled with novelties, was carried away with new discoveries, 
and was feverishly jealous of his own influence. Unity wholly 
disappeared. The life of school training gave place to passions 
of individuals more or less erudite, more or less accurate, but 
all equally absolute. When the youths found themselves at 
a loss as to whom they should follow, they withdrew their 
confidence from all the teachers. Their desire to do good work 
died out. At the end of two years of the new regime it would 
have been impossible to recognize the institution. 

Tentetnikof was of a gentle and straightforward disposition. 
He might naturally have taken some part in the nocturnal 
pranks of his companions, assisted in their misdeeds, listened 
to their profanity ; but his soul, even in its torpidity, reverted 



396 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

to its divine origin. He suffered nothing to seduce him into 
false and sinful pleasures. He closed his eyes to the giddy and 
the trifling. Already there was awakened in him a strong 
ambition, but he had neither employment nor career. It was 
better for him that he had no high aim. The evil was done. 
He listened to the professors, who became heated with excite- 
ment in their lectures, and then he recalled the departed one 
who, without once raising the pitch of his voice, had been able 
to impart clearness and dignity to his slightest sentences by 
remaining always master of his words. 

What courses and courses did Tentetnikof not pass through, 
under his new teachers ! Medicine, chemistry, philosophy, 
history — and in what enormous proportions ! The professors 
of all these studies seemed, at the end of three years, scarcely 
to have completed their introductions. He was expected to 
acquire a detailed knowledge of the origin and the institutional 
and legal development of Heaven-knows-how-many German 
towns ; but all this remained in, his mind as a chaotic mass. 

Thanks to his natural brightness, he saw that all this was 
undigested, but he did not perceive what ought to be done. 
Everything awakened regret for Alexander Petrovitch. So 
great was his sense of loss that he would have given two thirds 
of his fortune to have him restored. But youth is happy in 
that it has a future. And as the time approached for leaving 
his desk, he felt his heart bound with hope, and he said : 

" This is not yet life; it is a period of initiation. True life 
is found in the service of the public. Thither I must tend." 

And without giving a thought to the beautiful scenes which 
impress every traveler so forcibly, without even taking leave of 
the graves of his parents, he repaired, as the ambitious do, to 
St. Petersburg, where, as everybody knows, our restless youths 
gather from every corner of the Empire, to enter service, to 
serve fully, or gaily to embrace the superficiality of our false, 
cold, insipid, and colorless parlor culture. 

The ambitious hopes of Andrew Ivanovitch were favored, 
shortly after his arrival, by his uncle, Onoufri Ivanovitch, the 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 397 

Actual Councillor of State. ^ Thanks to the protection of this 
officer, after much striving and much difficulty, he was attached 
to some Department or other of the Government. 

Where does one not find enjoyment at that age? Our young 
clerk is at St. Petersburg. He is contented, though his face 
is a little pale. There is in the air a crackling cold, some thirty 
degrees Reaumur. That terrible child of the North, the snow 
whirlwind, rages in fury, covering the sidewalks under unequal 
and fantastic heaps, blinding to all pleasure the passer-by, pow- 
dering with thick cushions the fur collars and the mustaches of 
men, and the noses of beasts. But beyond the redoubtable icy 
fusillade which the flakes maintain in the air there is, in a cer- 
tain direction, in a fourth or fifth story, a little window which 
throws out a genial light; and in the little chamber which it 
reveals, by the light of two modest candles, and amid the steam- 
ing of the samovar, beats a warm heart which entertains itself 
in solitude with a pure love. Here is read a beautiful page of 
a Russian poem, full of inspiration (such as God deigns at 
times to give to the enjoyment of Russia), which seizes and 
raises the estimation of a chaste young man as it does not and 
cannot in other lands, under the most splendid skies. 

Tentetnikof soon became accustomed to his service. Soon 
that service ceased to be, as he had at first supposed it would 
be, the first thought, the great end of his existence, and was 
relegated by him to a secondary place. It contributed, by the 
assignment of the hours of the Bureau, to make him appreciate 
better the minutes and the days of leisure. The uncle, the 
Actual Councillor of State, took it into his head to exploit his 
dear nephew in a small way, but the nephew was not slow to 
understand his Excellency, and to see through his venerable 
uncle. 

Among the friends of Andrew Ivanovitch, of whom there 

1 The office of Actual Councillor of State is fourth in order of the civil ranks 
in Russia. Before him, in line, are the Privy Councillor, the Actual Privy 
Councillor, and the Chancellor of the Empire, — the last being the highest in 
degree. 



398 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

were a goodly number, were two of a sort described as malcon- 
tents. In character they were strangely morose. They seemed 
not only unable to endure injustice without commotion, but 
could endure nothing which, to their own peculiar views, bore 
any semblance to an injustice or slight. Straightforward in 
the matter of principle, but themselves unfaithful to principle 
in their acts, they exacted great tolerance for themselves, and 
at the same time were full of intolerance for others. They had 
a great influence over Tentetnikof, both by their vehement 
language and by a sort of righteous indignation for society. 
Having irritated his nerves, stirred up his bile, and inoculated 
him with germs of irritation, they caused him to observe habit- 
ually a series of intrigues which, till then, he had not noticed. 

One of these two friends, Feodor Feodorovitch, chief of 
one of the sections which had their Bureaus divided into a 
suite of parlors, began to annoy him. He found fault without 
ceasing. It seemed that Lenitsyne was all sugar in the presence 
of his superiors, and all vinegar when an inferior approached 
him. As an instance of his pettiness, he reprehended those who, 
on holiday occasions, did not present themselves at his door to 
congratulate him. He had a list of the names that were lack- 
ing on the register which, in those days, was placed in the 
vestibule, in charge of the porter, where the subalterns were 
expected to write their names. 

Andrew Ivanovitch came to feel a nervous agitation at every- 
thing he witnessed, at every voice he heard. I do not know 
what evil genius possessed him to cross and enrage his superior. 
He sought an occasion for this. It soon presented itself. He 
seized it with alacrity and ardor. He addressed Feodor Feodo- 
rovitch in terms so galling to the latter that the officer at once 
signified to the delinquent that he must at once make satisfac- 
tion to his superior before the entire Department or be dis- 
missed. His Excellency, the uncle, in great alarm, hastened 
to the young man's lodgings, and endeavored to persuade his 
nephew to seek forgiveness. 

"For Heaven's sake, Andrew Ivanovitch," said the uncle. 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 399 

"have a care what you do. Woukl you quit in disgrace a 
career so well begun ? And why ? Because your chief displays 
ill manners ! Ah, my dear fellow, if a person pays attention 
to such trifles, he cannot remain a single year in any service 
whatever. Have a little more sense and a little less pride, I 
beg you. I very much desire that you go at once and ask 
pardon." 

"That's not the trouble, Uncle," said Andrew Ivanovitch. 
"Nothing would be easier than for me to go to him with an 
apology, even in the presence of all the Bureau. I am wholly 
in the wrong. He is my superior. I had no right to speak 
to him as I did. It is this that troubles me. I have other 
duties that call me away. I have charge of dependents — of 
three hundred dependents. My estate is wretchedly adminis- 
tered. My steward is an ass. The State will lose but little if 
another shall take my chair in the Bureau, which I have filled 
long enough, doing unimportant and trivial things. But the 
State will suffer a real loss if three hundred souls are without 
the means to pay their capitation tax. Don't you really think, 
with me, that a land proprietor who is not a mere country 
squire is a useful member of society of his country ? Yes, I 
ask you, if, now, I retire to my estate, resolved to secure the 
prosperity of the hundreds of Christian families who are sub- 
ject to my rule, and if I shall be able to present to the State 
(which you think I am deserting) three hundred heads of 
families, comfortable, sober, industrious, trained to obedience, 
how will my service be less useful, less praiseworthy, than that 
of a Chief of Department — of a Lenitsyne, for example ? " 

His Excellency opened his mouth wide in astonishment. He 
had been far from listening to this flow of words. After a 
moment's reflection he said : 

" Very well, but you will not really go and shut yourself up 
in the forest. You will not pretend, I hope, to bring to your 
social standard a little society of serfs. Here you can run 
across a General or a Prince in the streets. At least, you can 
be near to them, can't you? But there — And think of the — 



400 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

the gaslight — European commerce — industries ! There you 
will find only a rustic, a peasant. What an idea, to condemn 
oneself to ignorance, obscurity, nothingness ! To go from the 
gaiety of the court to smother oneself ! Come ! You haven't 
thought of that." 

Thus the good uncle expressed himself. As for him, how- 
ever, it was a fact that he had never in all his life walked 
about on any other street in St. Petersburg than the one which 
led most directly to his Department ; that on that street there 
was neither palace nor great hotel, nor yet any public monu- 
ment ; that he had never looked at those whom he met, were 
they Generals or Princes ; that he had never entertained an 
idea of indulging in any of those little dissipations which are 
a reproach to the capital; and that never, never had he set 
foot inside the vestibule of a single theater. All that he said 
to his nephcAV was purely with the intention of exciting the 
self-love of the young man and captivating his imagination. 

In spite of his eloquence he had no success, for Tentetnikof 
was determined. His estate at this time presented itself to 
his mind as a charming retreat, full of good thoughts and 
sweet reveries and, at the same time, as a theater of the most 
useful activity. He had given but little real thought to the 
plan, but he had declared himself ; and that upon which we 
have declared ourselves is apt to become a fixed idea. Since 
it was decided, a new horizon spread out before him. From 
that very evening he possessed himself of the latest works on 
farming ; and fifteen days later he was already in the neigh- 
borhood of the. place where he had passed his infancy. He 
was near, I say, to the beautiful retreat which can be viewed 
with indifference by no one to whom it is given to contemplate 
it at leisure. 

Immediately he began to revive the impressions which had 
been long forgotten. There were many scenes which had 
wholly passed out of mind, and he looked with all the curi- 
osity of a newcomer upon points of marvelous beauty. Sud- 
denly, he knew not why, his heart began to leap when, as the 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 401 

road wound about in a ravine in a thicket of the forest densely 
entangled and composed of giant trees with gnarled trunks, he 
looked up and down, he saw far beyond him venerable oaks 
which three men could scarcely reach around, and he beheld a 
clearing bordered with larches, elms, and plane trees, crowned 
by the tops of handsome poplars. He inquired who was the 
proprietor of this wood, and in response his own name was 
given. Emerging from the thicket, he found the road passing 
through prairies, picked out here and there with beautiful 
clumps of young ash trees and old yews, in sight of a long suc- 
cession of heights, the aspect of which changed from moment 
to moment, as the road turned sometimes to the right, some- 
times to the left. And when he asked of some peasant to 
whom belonged these prairies and these hills, the reply was 
always : 

"To Tentetnikof." 

The road ascended after turning, and traversed a plateau. 
Andrew Ivanovitch rode past fields of rye, wheat, and barley 
on one side, and on the other was the distant expansive view of 
the tracts through which he had passed. Soon the road became 
darkened by degrees as it entered and plunged into the shadows 
of luxuriant trees, mantled with dense foliage and separated by 
borders of green carpet, extending to the hamlets. There the 
cottages stood in file, appearing like shadows to the eyes which 
were attracted by the red roof of the lordly mansion, above 
which gleamed five or six gilded spires. 

Instantly the heart of the young man burned and beat madly 
in his bosom. It was unnecessary to inquire where he was. 
His thoughts and emotions rushed upon him and found expres- 
sion in words which he shouted unconsciously : 

" Ah, what a fool I have been up to this day ! Fate gave it 
to me to be the free dispenser of a veritable Eden, and I left 
it to be allured among miserable scribblers — and that, after 
having been well educated, and having enjoyed light, learning, 
and wisdom ! After having been provided with all things 
needed to sow in abundance the seeds of good among my 

SCH. IN COM. 26 



402 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

species, to ameliorate a large domain, to fulfill the numerous 
obligations of a good Master, Avorthy to act as judge, instructor, 
and conservator of their order and well-being. And I was 
willing to confide such weighty responsibilities to a clown, a 
half -savage under the title of steward ! " 

Andrew Ivanovitch closed by showering himself again and 
again with epithets indicative of triple imbecility. 

Then another scene awaited him in the village. The peas- 
ants, men and women, having been advised of the arrival of 
the Master, assembled in his court. The soroques, the kitchques, 
the pavoiniks^ the zapounes} the beards of all shapes, — plow- 
share, spade, and Avedge, — red, sandy, ashy, and white like 
silver threads, were crowded together. The men, with deep 
bass voices, roared out : 

" Kormiletz ! '^ We behold you at last I " 

The women cried in soprano : 

" O oui- dear heart, our wealth, our greatest treasure ! " 

These, and others who were farther away, added to the con- 
fusion from the mere love of noise. One old woman, wrinkled 
like an oven-dried pear, glided like a needle among the legs of 
the multitude, and straightened herself up as though rising out 
of the ground, near Andrew Ivanovitch. Striking her hands 
together at his left ear, she screamed : 

" O but you're a pitiful creature ! Has the German style 
corded up your legs to make your body fall ? " ^ 

" Get out, and for good ! Begone ! " cried with touching 
unanimity the spade-beards and wedge-beards and plowshare- 
beards. "Just see the impudence of that old worm-eaten 
shell ! " 

A voice then interposed a witticism at which a Russian peas- 

1 Various head-dresses worn by the women of Russia. The soroques are 
made of white linen, and embroidered with bright-colored wool. They are worn 
by peasants throughout the region of the Ural Mountains. 

2 One who supplies food, and upon whom others depend for sustenance. 

3 The Russian peasantry are fond of the flowing robes and loose clothing of 
their Tartar ancestors, and have manifested great reluctance to adopt the more 
closely fitting garments of Western Europe. 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 403 

ant alone, of all the world, could keep his face straight. The 
young Master was unable to restrain himself, and burst out in 
hearty laughter, which, however, did not prevent him from 
feeling deeply moved. 

'' What deep affection ! And for whom ? For a man whom 
they have never seen, and who has never cared for them," 
thought he. He resolved in his heart to be a participant in 
their labors and their cares, to do everything to aid them and 
to make them what they ought to be. His was the unselfish 
care of a good and faithful landlord ; the worthy disposition 
which should bind to him the simple hearts of his people. He 
would give them his affection, that their love for him should 
not be lavished without return ; he Avould be himself, in fact, 
their father and their ^^ hormiletz.''' 

Tentetnikof undertook very seriously the duties of proprie- 
tor and Master. From the first day he had a hundred proofs 
that his steward had been only a fool, a miserable wretch, very 
exact in keeping his accounts of the chickens and their eggs, of 
pieces of cloth and skeins of thread brought by the women, 
but wholly ignorant of everything relating to the seeding and 
the harvest. Let me add that the steward had one fixed idea. 
He suspected the peasants of conspiring for his death. Tentet- 
nikof discharged this lugubrious bailiff, and appointed in his 
place an active and sensible man. Feeling that he could 
intrust to this person the minor matters, he reserved for him- 
self the more important affairs. He reduced the number of 
days of required labor, so that the peasants could give more 
attention to their personal concerns and aspire to a higher 
degree of comfort. He made ready to forward all their inter- 
ests. He personally frequented the field, the forest, and the 
prairie. He visited the granaries, the cart sheds, the stables, 
and the mills. He went to the port to see the ships and the 
great barges come in and depart, unload and load again. He 
took charge of the building of rafts of logs cut for timber. 

" O," the peasants would say, " he is quick with his feet 
and with his eyes ! " And even those who had fallen into 



404 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

habits of extreme laziness scratched the backs of their necks 
and began to recover the use of their legs and arms and bodily 
strength. 

But this activity was too exciting to last long. The peasant 
is never so dull as he seems. The serfs of Andrew Ivanovitch 
very soon discovered that this zeal was factitious and feverish. 
They remarked to themselves that he wanted to undertake too 
many things at once, without even suspecting how they would 
have to be done to bring any of them to a successful finish. 
They noted that he did not address them in language which 
goes straight to the understanding of the laborer, every word 
of which enters into his comprehension as the ax penetrates 
the wood and carves its way. It followed, not exactly that the 
Master and the serf did not understand each other's words, but 
that in all their intercourse, while there was a sort of harmony, 
they constantly heard the same music in different keys. 

Tentetnikof soon perceived that, from the lands which he had 
reserved for himself, as the choicest, there was never a return 
that was proportional to that received from the mediocre fields 
assigned to the peasants. The sowing was done earlier on his 
reservations, but the grain came up later, though it appeared 
that the work had been zealously performed. Often he himself 
had assisted, and had passed around to the laborers a flagon of 
brandy in recognition of their interest manifested in his behalf. 
For a long time, in the fields of the peasants, the rye had 
appeared, the oats were dropping from the stalks, and the 
millet had grown heavy, while in his own vast tracts the wheat 
scarcely developed a stalk, and the base of the ear was hardly 
formed. In short, the Master perceived that his dependents 
were cheating him, in spite of all the indulgences he had 
accorded them. 

He essayed to charge them with it, and to reprove them. 
They replied : 

'' How should we ever dare to neglect the lands of our good 
Master? Your Grace has been present in person while we 
labored. When we sowed, we did it with such care that you 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 405 

testified your satisfaction, and rewarded each of us with a treat 
of brandy." What could he say to these facts? 

"But to what am I to attribute the poor results?" he asked. 

"God knoAvs. Perhaps to the weevil; perhaps the worms 
have devoured the roots from below. Besides, Master, you 
know that these lands have had no rain at all." 

But the disappointed Master could easily see. that, so far as 
the fields of the peasants Avere concerned, the worms had not 
devoured the roots from below, and that the rains, Avhich had 
fallen so capriciously, had singularly favored the same fields, 
without deigning to moisten the reserved wheat lands. 

It was more difficult to bear with the women than with the 
men. They continually begged exemption from the required 
service, pleading illness and feebleness of health such as would 
touch the hardest heart. And, unhappily, the Master abol- 
ished all the requirements of cloth, of apples, of mushrooms, 
and of nuts, and still farther reduced the number of days of 
service formerly exacted with no less insistence. He believed 
that the women under his authority, more fortunate than those 
of their class elsewhere, would make good use of their leisure 
in attending to home affairs of their own; that the husbands 
and the children would have better clothing, better food ; that 
little kitchen gardens would extend from one cottage to another. 

Nothing of the sort followed. ^ The idleness, the gossip, the 
quarrels, and the fights among the fair sex were such that the 
husbands, after whole months of trouble, of protests and con- 
tentions in vain, came to the Master's house and vied with one 
another in saying: 

"Master, do deliver me from my wife. She has become 
worse than a very devil. There is no living with her at all." 

He wished — calling on God to witness his good intentions 
— that he might return to coercive measures. But tell me, 

1 Tentetnikof erred in making too great and sudden concessions at once. 
By conceding a little at a time, as a reward for good conduct, lie might have 
taught his serfs to appreciate the blessings of liberty, and to avail themselves of 
new opportunities for self -development. 



406 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

please, how could he do this ? Every one of the female delin- 
quents became so piteous, wept so violently, was so feeble, was 
covered with such wretched, filthy, and ill-smelling rags ! 

" God knows what ails that woman ! Begone, and never let 
me see you again. That's enough, that's enough ! Go along! 
Good-by ! " cried poor Tentetnikof. 

Then, following the unfortunate sick woman with his eyes, 
he saw that she had scarcely left his porte cochere when she 
vigorously attacked a neighboring woman in a fist fight over 
an apple or a turnip, and gave her contestant such heavy blows 
on the side that any moujik ^ in good health could not have 
slapped a boy of her size and strength more effectually. 

He essayed to establish a school in his village, so that at 
least he might make of the coming generation a different race 
of people. But this institution was, from the very beginning, 
the source of so much discussion and outcry that he hung his 
head, and reproached himself for having entertained the idea, 
as too wild a freak of his imagination. 

In the investigations, judicial proceedings, and arbitrations, 
he found of no use whatever the judicial theories of life in 
which he had been indoctrinated by the professors of philoso- 
phy. First one theory overcame him, then another, then a 
third. To the D — 1, then, with all speculative sciences ! By 
practical experience he came to the conclusion that there is 
something good and useful besides the subtleties of jurispru- 
dence and the works of philosophers, and that is a knowledge 
of men. He saw that something was lacking, but what was it? 
That he could not determine. And it happened to him as it 
happens so frequently to others ; neither did the peasant under- 
stand the Master, nor the Master the peasant. The misunder- 
standing increased from day to day, and became established be- 
tween the proprietor of the domain and its cultivators ; so that, 
finally, the zeal of the manorial Lord became utterly frozen. 

For a time he went to visit the scenes of work without in- 

1 A Russian laborer. 



TENTJETJVIKOF AND HIS TEACHERS 407 

tending to notice anything, and he did not trouble himself 
much about the cheating the laborers did in their measures. 
The grain heaps were piled up for the night, and were scattered 
under the bright sun in the morning, were dried, and were 
piled, finally, in large and beautiful stacks. The fields of 
labor were near by, but his eyes were directed far away. 

When the laborers passed to a distance, his gaze was upon 
objects near at hand, or was turned sideways to some bend of 
the river. On the bank a red-footed martin was passing. He 
observed that the. bird, having caught a fish in the water, held 
the same crosswise in its beak, and was deliberating whether 
to swallow it whole or in pieces ; and while Tentetnikof watched 
it attentively, far away on the bank another martin, which had 
not caught anything as yet, fixed its round eyes on its fellow 
that was tantalizingly provided for by its struggling prey. 

Leaving the two martins to measure their strength, he closed 
his eyes and threw back his head to the airy space, while his 
olfactories were delighted with the scent of the new-mown hay, 
and his ears caught the harmonies which the flying bevies render 
when, from hollows of the cliffs, from their retreats in the tree- 
tops, and from every part of the heaven they unite in song in a 
choir of myriads of singers, without a discordant sound. 

The quail cries in the rye. The rail sighs in the tall grass. 
The linnets and the picaverets warble as they pass in the air. 
The trills of the lark rise by insensible degrees to ethereal 
heights, and in clarion tones is heard the bass of the cranes, 
forming their triangular phalanx under the clouds. And all 
the surrounding country is filled and animated by a thousand 
cries, by the warblings and the sounds of this colossal concert 
of the birds. O, Heavenly Creator ! How beautiful is Thy 
world in the country, even in the most lonely places, among 
the little villages, lost in the depths, far from all the great 
roads, far from all the cities ! 

But even this spectacle and these glorious concerts pall on 
our dreamer, and begin to weary him. Soon he ceases to go to 
the fields. He takes to his quarters in the house. He refuses 



408 NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

to receive even the steward, when the latter comes to present 
his reports and his accounts. 

Several times there was seen at the mansion an ex-lieutenant 
of Hussars, an incessant smoker, whose whole body was im- 
pregnated with tobacco, like the pretended sea foam of which 
pipes are made. Then there was an ex-student, a candidate 
who failed of the University of Moscow, and came to the depths 
of the province as a representative of radical opinions, and who 
imbibed the deep wisdom and high authority of his doctrines 
from the gazettes and from certain pamphlets which he alone 
knew where to procure. But the association of these men was 
not slow to prove fatiguing to Tentetnikof. Their conversa- 
tion seemed to him to be superficial, and he was shocked by 
their European freedom of manner, their almost incredible 
familiarities. He resolved to break these ties, and to abstain 
from intimate acquaintance with any person, needing none. 

He broke off with them in a manner that was scarcely per- 
missible, even if he had not made a blunder of it. One day 
the one who was the most agreeable of all in these conversa- 
tions, so superficial in all things (conversations scarcely tolera- 
ble even in our own time). Colonel Brandorof, and with him 
our apostle of a new system of ideas, Barbare Nicolaewitch 
Vichnepokrovof, came to see him and to tell him some won- 
derful news relating to politics, philosophy, literature, morals, 
and even concerning the actual state of the British finances. 
He sent down word that he was absent. At the same time he 
had the imprudence to step to the- window. The gaze of the 
Master met that of the Colonel — one of the refused visitors. 

It is unnecessary to say that Brandorof and his companion 
were highly incensed. It is believed that one of them, in his 
anger, let fall the word "brute!" and that the other so far 

forgot himself as to say distinctly, "the ! " Be this as it 

may, this finished all the intercourse between Tentetnikof and 
his neighbors. He was glad to find that his porte coehere was 
never opened. Then it was that he dreamed of his project of 
a preliminary sketch, and meditated the preparation of a grand 



TENTETNIKOF AND HIS TEACH BUS 409 

work in the future on the subject of Russia. The reader 
knows already how he set about planning the foundation of 
this immense achievement. 

It could not be said, however, that there were never moments 
when he really aroused himself from his almost lethargic som- 
nolence. When the post brought to him the gazettes and the 
journals, and there fell under his eyes the familiar name of 
some old comrade who had come into notice in the service of 
the public, or who had made some handsome contribution to 
science or to literature, a singular anxiety stirred his heart, 
and a silent, secret complaint at his sluggishness caused his 
lips to move with an involuntary sigh. Then his life as a 
backwoods idler caused him grief and shame, and with unusual 
vividness he recalled to memory the days of his school, that 
appeared to him in living presence, and before him calmly stood 
the good Alexander Petrovitch. And the young man's eyes 
often were filled with tears. 

What signified his weeping? Did his soul, awakened by 
that voice, secretly chiding for its distemper, reveal to him his 
inner self ? That the strong man who had begun to rise in him 
was tied down, and had not come to maturity? That, in de- 
fault of overcoming the obstacles and limitations of his youth, he 
had not attained to that most desirable blessing of greatness 
and strength for the contest which nature compels ? That, 
heated like metal in the furnace, the rich treasure of noble 
sentiments of his youth had not reached the degree of incandes- 
cence? That his incomparable instructor, his mentor, his 
Socrates, had, fatally, quitted this low world too soon ? That 
there was no longer on earth a man who was able to raise him 
up and to inspire again his abilities, nullified by long and sad 
indecision, or his power to will, deprived of all incentive? 
That there was no one to throw into his soul, as an awakening 
cry, the electrical word " Forward ! " for which the Russian is 
hungr}^ and of which he has need in every degree of the social 
scale, be he soldier, peasant, clerk, sailor, priest, merchant, 
statesman, or laborer, serf or Lord, bourgeois or Prince ? 



JOHN GODFREY SAXE 

At a meeting of the Alumni Association of Middlebury College, Ver- 
mont, in 1842, a young attorney read a poetical satire which at once at- 
tracted wide attention and won the highest praise. The theme was Progress. 
The poem was modeled upon the style of Pope, in its metrical construction, 
and contained numerous classical allusions and imitations. It was a bright 
play of wit, from beginning to end, and its polished couplets flashed with 
happy conceits. It was apparent at once that its author, John G. Saxe, was 
a master of poetic diction, and a wit with hardly a rival among his Ameri- 
can contemporaries. 

At this time Mr. Saxe was but thirty years of age, and had enjoyed only 
a local reputation as a writer of some simple lyrics, abounding in humor. 
His youth had been passed among the scenes of his native village, near Lake 
Champlain — pictures of which are found in some of his minor poems. He 
was a graduate of Middlebury College, where his rank as a student was 
high.i 

The praise accorded to his writings did not deter the poet from following 
his chosen profession, and through life he made literature only a recreation 
for idle hours. He was distinguished for his ability at the bar, and was a 
social favorite. In another State he might have won political distinction, 
but in Vermont, where he resided until past middle life, he was not in 
accord with the dominant political party. It was considered one of his 
jokes to appear occasionally as the Democratic candidate for Governor, and 
probably he never expected to attain this distinction, though he was person- 
ally a popular and admirable candidate. 

Saxe wrote a variety of travesties of classic narratives, and some minor 
satires, together with a large number of ballads, sonnets, epistles, and odes, 
generally abounding in wit and humor. He was peculiarly felicitous in 
punning, and in the use of odd expressions. He sometimes affected the 
archaic style of writing, as in Ye Pedagogue, and Ye Taylor Man. He col- 
lected and told in verse a number of pithy narratives from the Orient. 
In fact, his learning was marvelous in extent, and his versatility surpris- 

1 The first year of Mr. Saxe's college course was passed at Wesleyan Univer- 
sity, at Middletown, Conn., allusions to which may be found in his minor poems. 

410 



PROGRESS 411 

ing. Among' his more extended poems are The Money King, The Proud 
Miss McBride, and Captain Jones' Misadventure ; or, The New Rape of the 
Lock. 

The poems of Saxe were collected and published in 1859. Thirty-three 
editions were exhausted within ten years, and for a long time thereafter 
their popularity did not diminish. Critics pronounce the wit of Saxe 
inferior in kind to that of Holmes and of Lowell, but of its peculiar class 
he was a master. As a humorist, he resembles Leigh Hunt among the 
British poets. 

The latter life of the poet was not sunshiny. He suffered domestic 
bereavement, and was severely afflicted by disease. He died in 1887 in 
Albany, X.Y., where he had resided for a number of years. 

Li Progress the teacher will find strictures on education w^hich are both 
entertaining and instructive. 



PEOGKESS 

A SATIRE 

In this, our happy and " progressive " age, 
When all alike ambitious cares engage; 
When beardless boys to sudden sages grow, 
And "Miss " her nurse abandons for a beau; 
When for their dogmas Nonresistants fight, 
When dunces lecture, and when dandies write; 
When matrons, seized with oratoric pangs, 
Give happy birth to masculine harangues. 
And spinsters, trembling for the Nation's fate. 
Neglect their stockings to preserve the State ; 
When critic wits their brazen luster shed 
On golden authors whom they never read. 
With parrot praise of " Roman grandeur" speak. 
And in bad English eulogize the Greek ; — 
When facts like these no reprehension bring. 
May not, uncensured, an Attorney sing? 
In sooth he may; and though "unborn" to climb 
Parnassus' heights, and "build the lofty rhyme," 



412 JOHN GODFREY SAXE 

Though Flaccus ^ fret, and warningly advise 
That "middling verses gods and men despise,'* 
Yet will he sing, to Yankee license true, 
In spite of Horace and "Minerva" too! 

My theme is Pkogeess, — never-tiring theme 
Of prosing dullness, and poetic dream; 
Beloved of optimists, who still protest 
Whatever happens, happens for the best; 
Who prate of " evil " as a thing unknown, 
A fancied color, or a seeming tone, 
A vague chimera cherished by the dull, 
The empty product of an emptier skull. 
Expert logicians they! — to show at will. 
By ill philosophy, that naught is ill ! 
Should some sly rogue, the city's constant curse, 
Deplete your pocket and relieve your purse, 
Or if, approaching with ill-omened tread, 
Some bolder burglar break your house and head. 
Hold, friend, thy rage ! Nay, let the rascal flee ; 
No evil has been done the world or thee. 
Here comes Philosophy, will make it plain, 
Thy seeming loss is universal gain! 
"Thy heap of gold was clearly grown too great, — 
■'Twere best the poor should share thy large estate; 
While misers gather, that the knaves should steal 
Is most conducive to the general weal; 
Thus thieves the wrongs of avarice efface. 
And stand the friends and stewards of the race; 
Thus every moral ill but serves, in fact. 
Some other equal ill to counteract." 
Sublime Philosophy! Benignant light! 
Which sees in every pair of wrongs, a right ; 
Which finds no evil or in sin or pain, 
And proves that Decalogues are writ in vain! 

1 Quintus Horatius Flaccus, the Latin lyric poet, commonly known as Horace. 



PROGRESS 413 

Hail, mighty Progress! Loftiest we find 
Thy stalking strides in science of the mind. 
What boots it now that Locke was learned and wise ? 
What boots it now that men have ears and eyes? 
"Pure Reason," in their stead, now hears and sees. 
And walks apart in stately scorn of these ; 
Laughs at "experience," spurns "induction" hence, 
Scouting "the senses," and transcending sense. 
No more shall flippant ignorance inquire 
"If German breasts may feel poetic fire," 
Nor German dullness write ten folios full. 
To show, for once, that Dutchmen are not dull.^ 
For here Philosophy, acute, refined, 
Sings all the marvels of the human mind. 
In strains so passing "dainty sweet " to hear, 
That e'en the nursery turns a ravished ear! 
Here Wit and Fancy in scholastic bowers 
Twine beauteous wreaths of metaphysic flowers; 
Here Speculation pours her dazzling light, 
Here grand Invention wings a daring flight. 
And soars, ambitious, to the lofty moon. 
Whence, haply, freighted with some precious boon, 
Some old " Philosophy " in fog incased. 
Or new " Religion " for the changing taste, 
She straight descends to Learning's blest abodes, 
Just simultaneous with the Paris modes ! 
Here Plato's dogmas eloquently speak. 
Not as of yore, in grand and graceful Greek, 
But (quite beyond the dreaming sage's hope 
Of future glory in his fancy's scope). 
Translated down, as by some wizard's touch. 
Find " immortality " in good high Dutch ! 



1 Allusion is here made to the ponderous work of Kramer, a German, which 
was written in reply to the brief question of Pere Bonhours, as to whether 
a German could be a wit. 



414 JOHN GODFREY SAXE 

Happy the youth, in this our golden age, 
^ Condemned no more to con the prosy page 

Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools. 
Now justly banished from our moral schools. 
By easier modes philosophy is taught, 
Than through the medium of laborious thought. 
Imagination kindly serves instead, 
And saves the pupil many an aching head. 
Room for the sages ! Hither comes a throng 
Of blooming Platos, trippingly along. 
In dress, how fitted to beguile the fair! 
What intellectual, stately heads — of hair! 
Hark to the Oracle ! — to Wisdom's tone, 
Breathed in a fragrant zephyr of Cologne. 
That boy in gloves, the leader of the van. 
Talks of the "outer" and the "inner man," 
And knits his girlish brow in stout resolve 
Some mountain-sized "idea" to "evolve." 
Delusive toil! Thus in their infant days. 
When children mimic manly deeds in plays. 
Long will they sit, and eager "bob for whale " 
Within the ocean of a water-pail ! 
The next, whose looks unluckily reveal 
The ears portentous that his locks conceal, 
Prates of the "orbs," with such a knowing frown, 
You deem he puffs some lithographic town 
In Western wilds, where yet unbroken ranks 
Of thrifty beavers build unchartered "banks," 
And prowling panthers occupy the lots 
Adorned with churches, on the paper plots ! 



But ah! What suffering harp is this we hear? 
What jarring sounds invade the wounded ear? 
Who o'er the lyre a hand spasmodic flings. 
And grinds harsh discords from the tortured strings? 



PROGRESS 415 

The Sacred Muses, at the sound dismayed, 
Retreat disordered to their native shade. 
And Phoebus hastens to his high abode, 
And Orpheus frowns to hear an " Orphic ode ! " 

Talk not, ye jockeys, of the wondrous speed 
That marks your Northern or your Southern steed; 
See Progress fly o'er Education's course! 
Not far-famed Derby owns a fleeter horse ! 
On rare Improvement's "short and easy" road. 
How swift her flight to Learning's blest abode! 
In other times — 'twas many years ago — 
The scholar's course was toilsome, rough, and slow; 
The fair Humanities were sought in tears, 
And came, the trophy of laborious years. 
Now Learning's shrine each idle 3^outh may seek, 
And, spending there a shilling and a week 
(At lightest cost of study, cash, and lungs). 
Come back, like Rumor, with a hundred tongues ! 

What boots such progress, when the golden load 
From heedless haste is lost upon the road? 
When each great science, to the student's pace, 
Stands like the wicket in a hurdle race. 
Which to o'erleap is all the courser's mind, 
And all his glory that 'tis left behind! 

Nor less, O Progress, are thy newest rules 
Enforced and honored in the "Ladies' Schools; " 
Where Education, in its nobler sense. 
Gives place to Learning's shallowest pretense ; 
Where hapless maids, in spite of wish or taste. 
On vain "accomplishments " their moments waste; 
By cruel parents here condemned to wrench 
Their tender throats in mispronouncing French; 



416 JOHN GODFREY SAXE 

Here doomed to force, by unrelenting knocks, 

Reluctant music from a tortured box; 

Here taught, in inky shades and rigid lines, 

To perpetrate equivocal " designs " ; 

" Drawings " that prove their title plainly true, 

By showing nature " drawn," and " quartered " too ! 

In ancient times, I've heard my grandam tell. 

Young maids were taught to read and write and spell ; 

(Neglected arts, once learned by rigid rules, 

As prime essentials in the " common schools "); 

Well taught beside in many a useful art 

To mend the manners and improve the lieart; 

Nor yet unskilled to turn the busy wheel, 

To ply the shuttle, and to twirl the reel ; 

Could thrifty tasks with cheerful grace pursue, 

Themselves "accomplished," and their duties too. 

Of tongues, each maiden had but one, 'tis said 

(Enough, 'twas though, to serve a lady's head). 

But that was English, — great and glorious tongue 

That Chatham spoke, and Milton, Shakspeare sung! 

Let thoughts too idle to be fitly dressed 

In sturdy Saxon be in French expressed; 

Let lovers breathe Italian, — like, in sooth, 

Its singers, soft, emasculate, and smooth; 

But for a tongue whose ample powers embrace 

Beauty and force, sublimity and grace, 

Ornate or plain, harmonious," yet strong. 

And formed alike for eloquence and song. 

Give me the English, — aptest tongue to paint 

A sage or dunce, a villain or a saint, 

To spur the slothful, counsel the distressed. 

To lash the oppressor, and to soothe the oppressed. 

To lend fantastic Humor freest scope 

To marshal all his laughter-loving troop, 

Give Pathos power, and Fancy lightest wings, 

And Wit his merriest whims and keenest stings ! 



PROGRESS 417 

The march of Progress let the Muse explore 
In pseudo-science and empiric lore. 
O sacred Science ! How art thou profaned, 
When shalloAV quacks and vagrants, unrestrained, 
Flaunt in thy robes, and vagabonds are known 
To brawl thy name, who never wrote their own; 
When crazy theorists their addled schemes 
(Unseemly product of dyspeptic dreams) 
Impute to thee ! — as courtesans of yore 
Their spurious bantlings left at Mars's door; 
When each projector of a patent pill. 
Or happy founder of a coffee-mill. 
Invokes thine aid to celebrate his wares. 
And crown Avith gold his philanthropic cares; 
Thus Islam's hawkers piously proclaim 
Their figs and pippins in the Prophet's name ! 

******** 

'Tis thus that modern " sciences " are made 
By bold assumption, puffing, and parade. 
Take three stale '' truths " ; a dozen " facts," assumed ; 
Two known " effects," and fifty more presumed ; 
" Affinities " a score, to sense unknown. 
And, just as " lucus non lucendo "^ shown. 
Add but a name of pompous Anglo-Greek, 
And only not impossible to speak. 
The work is done, a " science " stands confessed, 
And countless welcomes greet the queenly guest. 

ijt ilt ik. ik, Ji iji iJi ^ 

Hail, Social Progress I Each new moon is rife 
With some new theory of social life. 
Some matchless scheme ingeniously designed 
From half their miseries to free mankind ; 

1 This is a hit on etymology, which, because the Latin word lucus (meaning 
a dark grove) is derived from the same root as lucere (meaning to shine, or to 
be light) assumes that lucus must be a non lucendo {from not being light). 

SCH. IN COM. — 27 



418 JOHN GODFREY SAXE 

On human wrongs triumphant war to wage, 
And bring aneAV the glorious golden age. 
" Association " is the magic word 
From many a social "priest and prophet" heard, 
"Attractive Labor" is the angel given, 
To render earth a sublunary Heaven ! 
"Attractive Labor! " Ring the changes round, 
And labor grows attractive in the sound; 
And many a youthful mind, where haply lurk 
Unwelcomed fancies at the name of "work," 
Sees pleasant pastime in its longing view 
Of "toil made easy" and "attractive " too, 
And, fancy-rapt, with joyful ardor, turns 
Delightful grindstones and seductive churns I 
"Men are not bad," these social sages preach; 
"Men are not what their actions seem to teach; 
No moral ill is natural or fixed, — 
Men only err by being badly mixed! " 
To them the world a huge plum-pudding seems, 
Made up of richest viands, fruits, and creams, 
Which of all choice ingredients partook. 
And then was ruined by a blundering cook! 

Inventive France ! What wonder-working schemes 
Astound the world whene'er a Frenchman dreams! 
What fine-spun theories, — ingenious, new. 
Sublime, stupendous, everything but true ! 
One little favor, O " Imperial France ! " 
Still teach the world to cook, to dress, to dance; 
Let, if thou wilt, thy boots and barbers roam. 
But keep thy morals and thy creeds at home ! 

O might the Muse prolong her flowing rhyme 
(Too closely cramped by unrelenting Time, 
Whose dreadful scythe swings heedlessly along, 
And, missing speeches, clips the thread of song). 



PROGRESS 419 

How would she strive, in fitting verse, to sing 
The wondrous progress of the printing king ! 
Bibles and novels, treatises and songs, 
Lectures on "rights " and strictures upon wrongs; 
Verse in all meters, travels in all climes. 
Rhymes without reason, sonnets without rhymes ; 
"Translations from the French," so vilely done, 
The wheat, escaping, leaves the chaff alone ; 
Memoirs, where dunces sturdily essay 
To cheat Oblivion of her certain prey ; 
Critiques, where pedants vaunt ingly expose 
Unlicensed verses, in unlawful prose ; 
Lampoons, whose authors strive in vain to throw 
Their headless arrows from a nerveless bow ; 
Poems by youths, who, crossing Nature's will, 
Harangue the landscape they were born to till ; 
Huge tomes of law, that lead by rugged routes 
Through ancient dogmas down to modern doubts; 
Where Judges oft, with well-affected ease. 
Give learned reasons for absurd decrees. 
Or, more ingenious still, contrive to found 
Some just decision on fallacious ground. 
Or blink the point, and, haply, in its place, 
Moot and decide some hypothetic case ; 
Smart Epigrams, all sadly out of joint. 
And pointless, — save the "exclamation point," 
Which stands in state, with vacant wonder fraught, 
The pompous tombstone of some pauper thought; 
Ingenious systems based on doubtful facts, 
"Tracts for the Times," and most untimely tracts; 
Polemic pamphlets, literary toys. 
And Easy Lessons for uneasy boys ; 
Hebdomadal Gazettes, and Daily News, 
Gay Magazines, and Quarterly Reviews ; — 
Small portion these, of all the vast array 
Of darkened leaves that cloud each passing day, 



420 JOHN GODFBEY SAXE 

And pour their tide unceasingly along, 

A gathering, swelling, overwhelming throng! 

Cease, O my Muse, nor, indiscreet, prolong 
To epic length thy unambitious song. 
Good friends, be gentle to a maiden Muse, 
Her errors pardon, and her faults excuse. 
Not uninvited to her task she came. 
To sue for favor, not to seek for fame. 
Be this, at least, her just though humble praise: 
No stale excuses heralded her lays. 
No singer's trick, — conveniently to bring 
A sudden cough, when importuned to sing; 
No deprecating phrases, learned by rote, — 
" She'd quite forgot," or "never knew a note." — 
But to her task, with ready zeal, addressed 
Her earnest care, and aimed to do her best; 
Strove to be just in each satiric word. 
To doubtful wit undoubted truth preferred, 
To please and protit equally has aimed, 
Nor been ill-natured, even when she blamed. 



THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

Familiar to all lovers of the dramatic art in the United States and in 
the United Kingdom is the name of this prince of later dramatists, " the 
most successful and distinguished writer of plays in his generation." His 
early life was unpromising, and, indeed, he seemed scarcely to have known 
success or popularity until within seven years of his untimely death. His 
career was brief, but brilliant at its close. For a quarter-century there was 
probably not a week — perhaps not a night — when some of his dramas 
were not produced in English theaters ; and in our own country his crea- 
tions were among the most familiar in the repertory of the stage. 

Thomas William Robertson was born in 1829. He was the son of a 
traveling actor and theatrical manager, and from his earliest youth was 
familiar with dramas and with actors. He enjoyed some educational advan- 
tages. He essayed the role of an actor, but was not remarkably successful 
in it. In 1860 he went to London, and soon after became editor of a mining 
journal. He wrote a farce entitled A Cantab, which was produced at the 
Strand Theater, but was not well received. Nothing daunted, he continued 
to write for the dramatic press. 

In 1864 he achieved sudden distinction by the success of his drama 
David Garrick, which was brought out at the Haymarket Theater, in Lon- 
don, the principal part being borne by the matchless Sothern. Society, 
another popular piece, was first played in the following year, at the Prince 
of Wales Theater. Ours quickly followed, and was produced in 1866. 
Caste, in which the American actress Olive Logan excelled, was a success 
of the year 1868. School appeared in 1869, and M. P. in 1870. 

School was first presented in the Prince of Wales Theater, January 16th, 
1869, the parts of Dr. Sutcliffe and Bella being taken, respectively, by Mr. 
and Miss Addison. Two months later it was brought out in Wallack's 
Theater, in New York. 

The life of Robertson was suddenly terminated in 1871, when he was at 
the height of his fame. When read, his dramas are apt to prove disap- 
pointing. Much of their phenomenal success has been due, doubtless, to 
the superior merits of many of the actors who have appeared in them ; and 
despite their celebrity for the time, it is not likely that they will have a 
permanent place in dramatic literature. 

421 



422 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

SCHOOL 
A Drama in Four Acts 

(Abbreviated) 
Dramatis Persons 

Dr. Sutcliffe, proprietor of the school. 

Mr. Krux, a teacher. 

Lord Beaufoy, 1 

Beau Farintosh, \ Visitors to the school. 

Jack Poyntz, J 

Mrs. Sutcliffe, matron of the school. 

Bella Marks, an assistant and student. 

Naomi Tighe, 



Tilly, 

MiLLY, 

Laura, 
Clara, 
Kitty, 
Hetty, 



Students. 



ACT L 



Scene. — A glade in a forest. Bella discovered standing on a 
sloping hank^ under a large tree^ Naomi seated^ wearing a gar- 
land of wild flowers, Tilly and Clara. Milly arid Hetty 
behind Naomi and Tilly. Little child. Laura asleep against 
branch of a tree. 

Bella. And lier two haughty sisters stepped into a beautiful 
carriage, and drove towards the palace ; and when they were 
out of sight, Cinderella ^ sat down in a corner and began to cry. 
Her godmother asked her what ailed her. " I wish — I wish," 
— said Cinderella, but she sobbed so she couldn't say another 

1 The story of Cinderella is of very high antiquity, and originated, probably, 
in the Orient. It is always delightful 'to children, and is now related to them in 
many primary schools, as a subject for moral lessons. 



SCHOOL 423 

Avord. The godmother said, ''You wish to go to the ball." 
(^Imitating a godmother. ) Now this godmother was a fairy. 

Naomi. I wish my godmother had been a fairy. 

G-irls. Hush ! Silence ! 

Naomi. Girls without fathers or mothers ought to have 
fairies for godmothers, to make up for the loss. 

Bella. " Be a good girl," said the fairy godmother, '' and 
you shall go." "But," said poor Cinderella, "I can't go, for 
I've no things fit to go in." 

G-irls. Poor girl! (^With deep sympathy.) 

Naomi. If I hadn't nice dresses, I should die. 

G-irls. Hush ! 

Bella. " Run into the garden," said the fairy godmother, " and 
bring me a pumpkin. " Cinderella brought a pumpkin, and her 
godmother scooped out the inside. 

Hetty (eagerly). Was it nice ? 

Bella. The godmother scooped out the inside, leaving noth- 
ing but the rind ; she then touched it with her wand, and the 
pumpkin instantly turned into a fine coach, gilded all over with 
gold. 

Hetty. Bravo, pumpkin! 

Girls. Hush ! Go on, Bella. 

Bella. Then Cinderella looked into the mousetrap, where 
she found six mice, all alive and kicking. 

Naomi (with a shudder). I hate mice. 

Laura (waking up). Whenever I think of mice they make 
me feel quite sleepy. (Goes to sleep.) 

Bella. Cinderella lifted the door of the trap very gently, and 
the fairy godmother touched the mice, and they turned into 
beautiful horses, of a fine dapple gray mouse color. 

Girls. Oh ! 

Bella. Then the fairy turned two rats into postilions. 

Girls. Oh ! 

Bella. And six lizards into six footmen. 

Girls. Six — my ! 

Bella. ''There," said the godmother, "there is an equi- 



424 THOMAS WILLIAM R0BEBT80N 

page." " Yes," said Cinderella, crying hard, pointing to her 
nasty, ugly gray dress, "but I can't go in these filthy rags." 
Then her godmother touched her with her wand, and her rags 
instantly became the most magnificent ball dress that ever was 
seen, — 

airls. Oh ! 

Bella. Covered with the most costly jewels. 

Girls, Oh! 

Naomi. I should like to be godmothered in that way. 

Bella. To these were added a beautiful pair of glass slip- 
pers. Then Cinderella, seated in her beautiful coach, drove off 
to the palace. 

Naomi (sings). Gee up, gee oh ! 

Bella. As soon as she arrived, the King's son — 

Girls. The King's son ! 

Bella. A most beautiful young man — 

Hetty. This is interesting. 

Bella. Presented himself at the door of her carriage, and 
helped her to alight. 

Hetty. I should like to be helped twice to a King's son. 

Girls. Silence ! 

Bella. The Prince then conducted her to the place of honor, 
and soon after took her out to dance with him. 

Girls. Oh ! 

Clara. Think of that — a Prince ! 

Naomi. Hetty would like to eat a Prince, wouldn't you ? 

Tilly. So should 1. 

Clara. So should we all. 

Bella. The Prince fell in love with her. 

Girls. Oh ! 

Tilly. Why shouldn't he ? I suppose Princes fall in love, 
the same as common people — 

Hetty. But they don't do it the same way. 

Naomi. Go on, Bella. The Prince fell in love. 

Clara. What is love ? 

Milly. You stupid thing ! 



SCHOOL 425 

Tilly. Such ignorance ! 

Hetty. That stupid Chira ! 

Clara. I don't believe any of you know ; not even you big 
girls. 

Tilly. Everybody knows what love is. 

Clara. Then what is it? 

Naomi. Who's got a Dictionary? You're sure to find it 
there. 

Tilly. My eldest sister says it's the only place in which you 
can find it. 

Setty. Then she's been jilted. 

Milly. My pa says love is moonshine. 

Naomi. Then how sweet and mellow it must be. 

Milly. Particularly when the moon is at the full. 

Naomi. And there's no eclipse. 

Tilly. It seems that nobody knows what love is. 

Hetty. 1 despise such ignorance. 

Clara. Then why don't they teach it us ? We've a music 
master to teach music, why not a love master to teach love ? 

Naomi. You don't suppose love is to be taught like geogra- 
phy or the use of the globes, do you ? No, love is an extra. 

Tilly. Perhaps it comes naturally. Ask Laura what love is. 

Clara {touching Laura^ who is asleep}. Laura, what is love? 

Laura (waking). J'aime^ I love — tu aimes — (All laugh.) 

(^Enter Mrs. Sutcliffe. (xirls rise and courtesy.) 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Well, young ladies, what is the cause of 
your merriment ? What is the subject under discussion ? 

Naomi. Governess, we wish you to tell us something. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. What is it, Dear ? 

Naomi. What is love ? 

(xirls. Yes. What is love ? 

Child. Yes. What is love ? 

Mrs. Sutcliffe (dumfounded) . What is love? I — I — Here 
is the Doctor. 



426 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

(Unter Dr. SutcUffe,') 

Mrs. SutcUffe. Doctor, I have just had a most extraordinary- 
question proposed to me. 

Br. SutcUffe. Indeed, Dear. 

Naomi. Yes, Doctor, what is love ? ^ 

AU the Grirls. Yes, Doctor, what is love ? 

Child. Yes, Doctor, what is love ? 

Dr. SutcUffe. What is love ? The cuneiform inscriptions on 
the Babylonian marbles have been only recently deciphered, 
so I will answer according to the comparatively modern notions 
of the Greeks. By them love was called E'ros, but there were 
three separate Ero'tes. There was the Eros of the ancient 
cosmogonies. He'siod, the earliest author who mentioned him, 
calls him the cosmog'onic Eros. In Plato's Symposium he is 
described as the eldest of the Gods. Then there was the Eros 
of the philosophers, and lastly the Eros of the later degenerate 
Greek poets, who said erroneously that he was the youngest of 
the Gods. The parentage of Eros, or Cupid, is doubtful. It 
is generally assumed that he was the son of Zeus, — that is, 
Jupiter ■ — and of Aphrodi'te, — that is, Venus (iHfrs. SutcUffe 
coughs) — so that he was both the son and the grandson of — 
(^Mrs. SutcUffe coughs.) That is love ! I mention these facts 
because I am about to say no more upon the subject. ^ 

Naomi. I know what love is. 

Mrs. SutcUffe (aside). Goodness forbid ! 

Dr. SutcUffe. How forward the child is. 

Naomi (taking BeUa's hand., who has dropped down on her). 
I love Bella, and Bella loves me ; don't you Bella ? 

Dr. SutcUffe. We all love Bella. It is impossible to know 
her without loving her. Goodness and amiability must com- 
mand affection and esteem. 



1 Dr. SutcUffe, like many another teacher, is willing to air his erudition upon 
the slightest pretext, and has to be coughed down. The style and manner of 
a pundit do not add to the value of a teacher. 



SCHOOL 427 

Naomi. He talks just like a copy book, doesn't he ? 

Dr. Sutcliffe (taking her hancT). And I suppose, Bella, my 
child (Mrs. Sutcliffe coughs)., that ;^ou are going to aid the 
young ladies in their botanical researches? 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Yes, young ladies, if you have sufficiently 
reposed yourselves from your walk across the meadow, you can 
resume your self-imposed labor. 

(xirls (going and singing). 

Through the wood, through the wood, follow and find me, 

Search every hollow and dingle and dell ; 

I leave not the print of a footstep behind me, 

So they who would search for must look for me well. 

(Grirls walk off.) 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. It is an extraordinary thing, Doctor, that, 
despite all my remonstrances, you will constantly show your 
too obvious preference for that girl, Bella. It has a most 
injurious effect upon the other pupils. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. My Dear, she is an orphan without friends 
or protection, dependent entirely on us, — that sad social 
anomaly, a pupil teacher, less self-reliant than a servant 
and only half a lady. Then poor Bella is so pretty and so 
young — 

Mrs. Sutcliffe (sits). Ah! There it is, so young ! (Nearly 
weeping.) Cruel Theodore, to remind me of my lost youth ! 

Dr. Sutcliffe. Amanthis, my Love, that was far from my 
intention. You are too sensitive. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Your thoughts are ever fixed on the fleeting 
and unsubstantial charms of youth and beauty. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. No, no, no, no. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Do you not remember 
five-and-thirty years ago? 

Dr. Sutcliffe. Amanthis, to recall that error of my youth — 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. It is always present to my mind. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. My Love, I only danced with her three times, 
and it is five-and-thirty years ago. 



428 THOMAti WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. I remember we had been scarcely married 
seven years. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. Since then you have been constantly reproach- 
ing me. 

Mr8. Sutcliffe. It seems but as yesterday. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. It seems to me much longer. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Ah, Theodore, unfeeling — 

Dr. Sutcliffe. No, no, Amanthis, I did not mean that. I 
meant that five-and-thirty years' conjugal serenity ought to 
compensate for dancing with a young lady three times at a ball, 
where, from the fault of hosts too hospitable, the negus had been 
made too strong. Come, Amanthis, don't be hard on Theodore. 
Think what Jason says : 

Credula res amor est — 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Credula res amor est. Utinam temeraria dicar 
Criminihus falsis insimulasse virum.^ 

Dr. Sutcliffe. Insimulasse virum — the contraction for the 
pentameter. 

QEnter Krux.^ reading a hooJc.^ 

Dr. Sutcliffe. Ah, Mr. Krux, are you enjoying this beau- 
tiful day ? 

Krux. No, Sir, I was enjoying this beautiful book. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe (rising^. What is it? 

Krux. Hervey's Meditations among the Tombs? 

Dr. Sutcliffe. Rather a serious work. 

Krux. Not to my taste. Sir. This splendid sky, the flashing 
brook, the verdant meadow, these rustling trees, and sweetly 
singing birds, all turn my thoughts unto the grave. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Good gracious I 

1 Love is a creduious thing. May I be pronounced rash to accuse my hus- 
band on a false charge. — Ovid's Hypsipyle to Jason. 

2 James Hervey's Meditations and Contemplations v^^as at one time very popu- 
lar in P^ngland. It was found in most English cottages by the side of the Bible 
and Pilgrini's Progress. 



SCHOOL 429 

Br. Sut cliff e. It turns my thoughts to nothing of the kind. 
On the contrary, it sends them back to years when — 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Not thirty-five years, Theodore. {Aside to 
him.) 

Dr. Sutcliffe. No, Amanthis, not thirty-five — to thirty -four 
or thirty-six, but not to thirty-five. Come, let us join the 
pupils. For the present, Mr. Krux. (^Bows; aside^ going.) 
Prig ! I can't bear prigs, particularly young prigs. 

(^Exeunt Br. and Mrs. Sutcliffe.) 

Krux. Upstarts I I hate those people ; but then I hate most 
people. I think I hate most things, except Bella, and when I 
look at her I feel that 1 could bite her. Here she is. 

(^Enter Bella^ reading a hook.) 

Krux. Bella, where are you going ? 

Bella. Mrs. Sutcliffe has sent me to fetch her goloshes.^ 

Krux. Stay one moment. Sit down. (^Sits on branch.) 

Bella. Mrs. Sutcliffe told me I was not to loiter. 

Krux. What are you reading ? 

Bella. A fairy tale. What are you reading ? 

Krux. Hervey's Meditations. A different sort of literature. 
Do sit down. ( Bella sits on branch. ) 

Bella (^ reads). ''The King's son, the handsome young 
Prince, was continually by her side, and said to her the most 
obliging things imaginable." 

Krux. What a beastly world this is, Bella, isn't it ? Attend 
to me for a short time, I want to speak to you very particu- 
larly. 

Bella. Be quick, then. 

Krux. Dr. and Mrs. Sutcliffe are getting very old. 

Bella. They are not getting old ; they are old. 

Krux. And, therefore, must soon die. 

Bella. Oh, Mr. Krux, what a dreadful notion ! 

1 Overshoes. 



430 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

Krux. We are all worms — particularly the Doctor and Mrs. 
Sutcliffe. All men must die sometimes, Dr. and Mrs. Sutcliffe 
included. 

Bella. Mrs. Sutcliffe isn't a man. 

Krux. She ought to have been. But as I was saying, Bella, 
when they are dead and buried — 

Bella. Mr. Krux ! 

Krux. They will be no longer able to keep on the school, 
will they ? Then who is to keep on the school, eh ? 

Bella. I don't know. I don't like to think of such things. 

Krux. I do. I repeat, who is to keep on the school ? I am 
the only resident master. I am known to all the pupils. 

Bella. Alas, yes ! 

Krux. I am known, and, I hope, loved. 

Bella. No, feared. 

Krux. It's the same thing in a school. Bella, you're a very 
good scholar — 

Bella. No, I'm not. 

Krux. Yes, you are, and you understand all about the 
kitchen pies and coals and vegetables and the like. You're 
an orphan. 

Bella. Yes. (^Sighing.) 

Krux. So am I. You have no relations. 

Bella. No. 

Krux. Nor friends. 

Bella. Oh, yes. Dr. and Mrs. Sutcliffe, and the school, and 
the people in the village. 

Krux. I don't count them — I have no friends. 

Bella. No, not one. 

Krux. When the Sutcliffes go, why shouldn't we keep on 
the school? 

Bella (astonished). We ? 

Krux. Yes ; you and I ; we are quite capable. I am clever, 
so are you. We could enlarge the connection. You could 
manage the girls, I would manage the boys. Think how 
pleasant to make money, take in pupils, teach them and correct 



SCHOOL 431 

them ; I should like to correct them — particularly the boys. 
We should get on, Bella, if we got married. 

Bella. Got married ! Who got married ? 

Krux. You to me, me to you. Mr. and Mrs. Krux, of 
Cedar Grove House. I love you, Bella. 

Bella. {Jumps up., dropping her hook.) Oh don't — on such 
a nice day as this, too. 

Krux. Eh ? 

Bella. Poor, dear Dr. and Mrs. Sutcliffe ! To think of their 
dying ! It makes me cry. (^Crying.) So kind as they've been 
to me. 

Krux. She's a fool. (^Bises.') Bella. 

Bella. Go away, you bad man, do. To think of death and 
marriage, and such dreadful things. (^Pieks up book.') 

Krux. You won't tell the Sutcliffes, Bella, will you? I 
proposed it all for your good, and because I love you. You 
won't tell 'em, will you. Dear, and get me into trouble ? 
Promise me you won't tell 'em. Promise me, do — do. 

Bella. I won't tell 'em if you'll promise me never to men- 
tion such subjects again. 

Krux. I won't, I'll take my oath I won't. Take your oath 
you won't tell them of me. Bella, take your oath, Dear, will 
you? 

Bella. No, I give you my word. To think of our kind 
benefactors dying ! You wicked man ! I wonder that some- 
thing don't happen to you — I wonder — ( Two shots heard in the 
distance.) Oh! {Krux frightened.) I won't stay any longer 
Avith you. 

Krux. Where are you going ? 

Bella. To fetch the goloshes. (Uxit.) 

Krux. A bad girl ! A bad girl ! A bad girl ! She'll come 
to no good, if I can help it ; an ungrateful beast, after the offer 
I made her. What is she ? A nobody, a foundling, a pauper 
brought up on charity. 



432 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 



ACT n. 

Scene. — The schoolroom. Two long rows of desks. Maps on 
walls. Master^s desk. Small table under window, at which 
Bella is seated, shelling peas. 

Music foe, Curtain. 
Bella Qhums}. 

Said the Prince unto the maiden, 

" There is none I love but thee." 
"Let me hence then," said the maiden, 

" You are not of my degree." 
" Love can raise thee to a lady, 

Say, my Princess wilt thou be ? " 
Faster, faster flew the maiden. 

Faster, faster followed he. 

(^Naomi appears at the window.) 

Bella. Nummy, is that you ? 

Naomi. Yes, Dear, what are you doing? 

Bella. Shelling peas, and — 

Naomi. Yes ? 

Bella. And thinking — 

Naomi. About the goloshes? 

Bella (nods). But only a little, only a little. 

Naomi. Bella dear, I dreamt last night, and this morning 
I feel as if something were going to happen ; that is, I feel quite 
hysterical, as if I should like somebody to hug or to scratch at. 
I dressed myself quickly on purpose that I might come out 
into the garden and have a good think. It is nice to think in 
the shrubbery. 

Bella. I'm afraid we are too young to have a right to think 
upon such subjects. 

Naomi. Not a bit. One is always old enough for a sweet- 
heart. I'm eighteen ; how old are you ? 

Bella. I don't know. 



SCHOOL 433 

Naomi. Then perhaps you're twenty. I knew two girls 
who were married before they were nineteen, but then some 
people have such luck. Ain't you going to dress yourself for 
this examination, like the other girls? 

Bella. This is my Sunday frock. 

Naomi. But you can have my pink, my darling ; you can 
wear anything of mine. (^She steals peas ^ and eats them.) 

Bella. You mustn't eat the peas. Dear. 

Naomi. Why not? 

Bella. They're not nice. 

Naomi. Yes, they are if you eat them when nobody's look- 
ing. (Naomi runs away from the window as she sees Mrs. Sut- 
cliffe enter.) 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. Bella, what are you doing there? 

Bella. Shelling peas. Ma'am. 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. Shelling peas in the schoolroom? 

Bella. They are so busy and so pushed for room in the 
kitchen with the dinner, that I brought them here. I can take 
them back. (Rising.) 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. Oh, it is nearly time that Mr. Farintosh and 
his friend should be here. Bella, if the young ladies are 
dressed, you can tell them that I will inspect them in this 
apartment. 

Bella. Here are the young ladies. 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. Good. (They enter and pass in front of Mrs. 
Sutdiffe^ to their places.) 

Mrs. Sutdiffe (to Child). You shall be questioned with the 
others, to please you. What are you going to answer? 

Child. They condemned him to shoot — 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. Yes — yes, that's right. (Child passes to her 
seat.) 

Mrs. Sutdiffe (to Naomi). Why, Naomi, my dear, you've 
been crying. 

Naomi. No, I haven't. 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. Miss Tighe, Miss Tighe, you should say I 
was mistaken. 

SCH. IN COM. — 28 



434 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

Naomi. Then you are, and if I have been crying, it's only 
a few tears. (^Goes to her seat.^ 

Tilly. What could you cry but tears? You couldn't cry 
cucumbers, could you? 

{Enter Laura^ lazily. ) 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Now then, Laura, you're last again. 

Laura. Somebody must be last. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. The Doctor will put you through an exam- 
ination on the arrival of our friends. It will be an excellent 
bit of practice for the grand examination at the end of the half- 
year. The musical examination will take place after dinner, in 
the drawing-room. Mr. Farintosh brings a friend with him, 
Lord Beaufoy, the owner of half a county. 

Tilly. Half a county! Which half? 

Clara. And which county ? 

Naomi. Is he a real Lord? 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Real — yes. 

Naomi. But I mean a real, real Lord. When I get near 
him I'll pinch him, and see if he is flesh and blood, like other 
people. 

Tilly. Oh, I dare say Lords are very flesh ! 

Naomi. And very blood — very good blood, I mean. 

{Gate hell.) 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Hush ! They are here. 

Naomi. Oh, I feel so nervous, I should like to scream. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Young ladies, I have only time to say that 
I rely on you with every confidence. 

(^G-irh all rise, as Dr. Sutcliffe, Farintosh, Lord Beaufoy, and 

Jaclz enter.) 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Young ladies, let me have the honor. Lord 
Beaufoy — 
JSella {at hack) . He Lord Beaufoy I 



SCHOOL 435 

Mrs, Sutcliffe. Mr. Percy Farintosli, Mr. — 

(^Naomi giggles, Mrs. Sutcliffe looks at her sternly.^ 

Lord Beaufoy. Poyntz. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Mr. Poyntz. 

Naomi (marking on desk with pencil). Poyntz, Poyntz, 
Poyntz. 

Farintosh. A friend who was staying with me, and whom I 

have taken the liberty — 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Charmed ! ( cyt 7 • 7 7 
T^ r^ -.'^ T^Ti.ii \ Shaking hands. 
Dr. Sutcliffe. Dehghted ! ( ^ 

Farintosh. My dear young ladies, permit me to say how 

highly I feel honored by bemg permitted, by the kindness of 

my friends, Mrs. Sutcliffe, and — and — Theodore — and the 

Doctor, to be present at this charming a — a — 



Lord Beaufoy. Inspection, i m ^j, \ 
Jack. Review. ( ) 



Farintosh. Inspection, review, whatever it may be. 

L>r. Sutcliffe. Examination. 

Farintosh. Examination. Indeed, that is one of the proudest 
privileges of my life. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. My dear Mr. Farintosh ! 

Dr. Sutcliffe. Percy, my old friend ! 

Farintosh. To see so much grace and beauty is like gazing 
on a parterre of beautiful flowers whose colors are audible, and 
whose perfume is melody. 

Br. Sutcliffe. Bravo, very elegant. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Flowing. 

Lord Beaufoy. Like Tom Moore. 

Jack. Broken-winded. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. The old school. 

Farintosh. Vieille ecole — bonne ecole.^ 

Jack. Good show for girls. 

Farintosh. That is new school. Short, pithy, ungrace- 
ful. 

1 Old school, good school ! 



436 THOMAS WILLIAM BOBERTSON 

Jack. And meaning what it says. 

{Lord Beaufoy sees and recognizes Bella.) 

Lord Beaufoy . My fairy in the wood. 

Naomi. It's the shoe-horn. 

Br. Sutdiffe. Bella, my dear, you are not going ? 

Bella. I — I — 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. Miss Tighe, let me introduce you to Mr. 
Percy Farintosh. 

Farintosh {going to Bella). Miss Tighe, I knew your guard- 
ians intimately. I have — 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. That is not Miss Tighe ; that is Bella, a 
little thing I took in out of charity — makes herself very 
useful about the house. 

Dr. Sutdiffe. The best scholar we can boast of — the pupil 
of whom I am most proud. Take your accustomed place, Bella, 
at the head of the class. {Bella goes to her desk.) 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. Pray be seated. {They sit opposite girls.) 

Naomi. I can't answer a single question if he looks at me. 

Lord Beaufoy. Handsome girls ! 

Farintosh. Delightful! {Aside.) Can't see a single feature. 

{Nao77ii giggles, and looks at Jack.) 

Mrs. Sutdiffe. Hush ! Hush, Miss Tighe. 

Br. Sutdiffe. The ancient Romans — 

Mrs. Sutdiffe {coughs). Doctor, as we are rather late, and 
dinner will be punctual, if you would kindly make the prelim- 
inaries to the examination as short as possible. 

Br. Sutdiffe. I will so, my Dear. We will begin with 
Roman history. There were different forms of government 
in Rome. Please to inform me in what order those forms of 
government ruled the Roman people. 

Tilly. First the regal power — that is, the Kings ; next the 
Consuls, until the first Dictator was chosen ; then the power of 
the Decemviri, consular government again. Imperial dictator- 
ship, — then the Emperors. 

Farintosh. My dear Mrs. Sutdiffe, let me congratulate you 
on your fair charges. 



SCHOOL 437 

Jack. How the propria quce marihus ^ they can remember it, 
I can't make out. 

Lord Beaufoy. I suppose it's cram. 

Dr. SutcUffe. After Rom'ulus had appointed the Lictors, 
what other royal or civic guard did he appoint? 

Milly. The Cel'eres. 

Dr. SutcUffe. Who were they? 

Milly. A guard of young men, numbering three hundred, 
who accompanied Romulus for the purpose of defending him. 

Lord Beaufoy. Sort of Life Guards. 

Jack. Without boots or breeches. 

Lord Beaufoy. Cool to fight in. 

Jack. And convenient for fording rivers. 

Dr. SutcUffe. Name the reign and date rendered illustrious 
by Belisa'rius. 

Naomi. The reign of Justin 'ian, in the year 561. 

Dr. SutcUffe. Who was Belisarius? 

Tilly. Belisarius was a Roman general, who rendered the 
highest service to his country. 

Dr. SutcUffe. How was he rewarded ? 

Clara. They deprived him of his dignities and put his eyes 
out. 

Jack. That must have been done by a committee of the 
period. 

Dr. SutcUffe. Now for English history. With regard, now, 
to the ancient Druids. In what garments were the ancient 
Druids clothed when they — (^Mrs. SutcUffe coughs.') I should 
say, — ahem ! In what reign was the ceremony of marriage 
first solemnized in churches ? 

All the Girls. In the reign of Henry III. 

Jack. They all know that. 

Farintosh. Wonderful ; and all single girls, too. 

Dr. SutcUffe. What is the difference between the political 
parties, Whig and Tory? 

1 An old rule of Latin grammars begins with these words, and relates to the 
gender of nouns signifying things which pertain to males. 



438 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

Tilly. None whatever. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. By whom were the Britons first conquered? 

Naomi. They were never conquered ; they'd sooner die. 

Jack. Girl of spirit, by Jove ! 

Dr. Sutcliffe. In what reign was the famous Gunpowder 
Plot discovered? 

Qlara. In the reign of November 5th. 

Bella. In the reign of James I. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. Who was the chief instigator, criminal, and 
author of that atrocious plot ? 

Clara. Oliver Cromwell. 

Tilly. Guy Fawkes. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. How was Guy Fawkes punished? 

Child. They condemned him to shoot an apple from the 
head of his own son. 

Dr. SutcUffe. Hum ! Astronomy. How far distant is the 
moon from the earth? 

Naomi. It depends on the weather. (Laughing.) I knew 
I couldn't say it. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. Bella, dear — 

Bella. The mean distance of the moon from the earth is 
236,347 miles. 

Jack. Good gracious ! 

Farintosh. Wonderful ! 

Dr. Sutcliffe. I told you Bella was our best pupil. And the 
diameter of the moon? 

Bella. Her apparent diameter is variable according to her 
distance from the earth. Her real diameter is 2144 miles. 

Naomi (to Tilly.') What do they call the moon her for? 

Tilly. They always call the moon her. The moon is a 
lady. 

Naomi. Then more shame for her to be out so late at night. 
What would they say if we did it ? 

Tilly. Consider her age. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. And her magnitude ? 

Bella. About one fiftieth of the magnitude of the earth. 



SCHOOL 439 

Farintosh. Tremendous ! In astronomical knowledge that 
young lady is a perfect Sir Isaac Davy.^ 

(Enter Krux.^ 

Krux. Pardon my interruption, but the servant didn't like 
to mention that dinner was ready — 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Oh, thank you. I fear we cannot proceed 
with the examination further. Mr. Krux, as Mr. Farintosh has 
brought two friends, one more than we expected, I fear there 
will not be room for you at table; so if you wouldn't mind 
excusing — 

Krux. Oh, never mind me, Mrs. Sutcliffe, I am of no 
consequence. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Oh, thank you — so kind of you. 

Farintosh (to Mrs. Sutcliffe^. My Dear, so many thanks. I 
shall be able to tell you all my admiration during dinner. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Ladies, then until after dinner, — when we 
will resume our studies. 

( G-irls rise and courtesy. Naomi makes eyes at Jach^ who 
walks off. Dr. Sutcliffe touches Lord Beaufoy^ ivho is 
looking at Bella. They follow off. G-irls chatter aloud, 
Krux has a white mark on his coat.') 

Krux. And they dine without me, — and I'd kept such a 
good appetite, because I knew the dinner was good. Silence, 
ladies. Oh, these upstarts ! And the guests are as bad as the 
hosts. Ladies ! That old fool and those two young idiots I I 
don't suppose they could conjugate a verb between them. 
Ladies, ladies, ladies I (Rapping desk.) I must request your 
attention. Miss Hetty. Take your arms off the desk, Miss 
Laura ; heads up. (He turns to go up, and shows a white mark; 
they laugh.) Silence, if you please. 

Naomi. He's been powdering himself for dinner. 



1 Farintosh ludicrously confounds Sir Isaac Newton with Sir Humphry 
Davy. 



440 THOMAS WILLIAM BOBIJBTSON 

Tilly, It's not powder, it's flour ! He's been kissing the 
cook ! 

Naomi, Oh, how I pity the cook ! {Laugh.) 

Krux, What are you laughing at ? There is nothing to 
laugh at in me, I should think. 

Tilly. You've got your shoulder all over white. 

Krux. Oh, Bella, fetch me a brush. Didn't you hear me ? 
Fetch me a brush. {Exit Bella. To Qlara.) What is the 
height of the Chimb or azo Mountains ? 

Clara. Four hundred miles. {Laugh.') No, I mean four 
hundred yards ; I made a mistake. 

Krux, Wrong. Mountains of that height do not exist. 
The height of the Chimborazo Mountains is about one mile. 
Where are the Chimborazo Mountains ? 

Child. Wherever you please. Sir. 

Krux. That's a nice child. She's respectful though she's 
stupid. Where are the Chimborazo Mountains, Miss Naomi ? 

Naomi. I don't know. 

Krux. Answer me, Miss ! 

Naomi. I can't. 

Krux. Why not ? 

Naomi. Because I can't. I feel as if I could cry my eyes 
out. 

Krux. You're hysterical, and should go out and have your 
head pimiped on. 

{Bella returns with brush,, which she offers to Krux.) 

Krux. Oh, brush me. {A pause.) Did you hear me ? 
Brush me. 

Bella. I can't do that. 

(jrirls. What a shame ! 

Krux. Silence in the class. Do you know who I am ? 

Bella. I'm not a servant. 

Krux. Not a servant ! If you shell peas, you can brush 
coats. Then pray what am I ? 



SCHOOL 441 

Naomi. You're a beast. Bella is here to teach ladies, not to 
brush blackguards. Insulting our Bella ! Girls, don't put up 
with it. 

(^Throws hook at him ; the others are about to follow her ex- 
ample when enter Br. Sutcliffe^ Mrs. Sutcliffe^ Lord Beaw- 
foy^ and Jack.') 

ACT IV. 



Scene. — The grounds of Cedar G-rove House. Girls discovered 
at play. Jack. Krux enters. 

Krux. Miss Tighe ! How do you do, Sir ? I hope I have the 
pleasure of seeing you in health. 

Jack. Quite. 

Krux. I'm quite well, thank you. 

Jack. I didn't ask the question. 

Krux. I did not know that you were here. 

Naomi. That's not the only thing he don't know. 

Jack. I came to tell the Doctor that Mr. Farintosh is ex- 
pected, and seeing the gate open — 

Krux. The gate open — tut-tut-tut ! Now who could have 
opened the gate ? 

Naomi. The cat. 

Krux. The cat — what cat ? 

Naomi. The cat I keep to scratch spies' eyes out. QTo Jack.) 
You've been in the army — tell me, would it be wrong to kill 
Mr. Krux? 

Jack. By no means. 

Krux. Mr. Sutcliffe sent me to tell you Mr. Farintosh has 
arrived. 

Jack. 

Naomi. 



Y Arrived ? 



Krux. Yes, and here he is. 

Jack (to Naomi). You'll hardly know the Beau again. 



442 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

Since his recovery he no longer dresses himself in the latest 
mode, but he goes about like any other old gentleman, and 
looks much the better for it. 



(^JEJnter Dr. and Mrs. Sutcliffe^ both very grave.^ 

Jack. My dear Doctor — Mrs. Sutcliffe, so glad to see you. 
I got here before Mr. Farintosh, and Avas just coming — 

Mrs. Suteliffe (saluting Jack^ seeing Naomi about to go). You 
may remain, Miss Tighe ; Mr. Farintosh wishes to see you. 

(Naomi delighted. Enter Farintosh., his appearance entirely 
altered; silver hair^ whiskers^ and his dress appropriate to 
his age.) 

Farintosh. My dear Miss Tighe, your guardians send you 
their love. Eh, Poyntz, you here ! How's that ? How's that ? 

Jack. I came down by the train because I heard you had 
come on here. 

Farintosh. Very kind, very kind. 

Jack. And while I was searching about — 

Krux. The garden gate was opened by the cat. 

Mrs. Suteliffe. Eh, what ? 

Jack. I — I — saw the cat outside waiting to come in, so I 
opened the gate for him or her. 

Krux. From the outside ? 

Jack. No, I was lifting the animal over the wall, when see- 
ing Miss Tighe in the garden — 

Naomi. I opened the gate, Mr." Krux ; you can shut it. 

(Krux shuts the gate.) 

Mrs. Suteliffe (who is very pale). Mr. Poyntz, let us thank 
you for the effort you have made to find that poor child. 

Farintosh. Yes, yes — a sad affair, a sad affair. 

Dr. Suteliffe. A child I was so much attached to. 

Krux (sighing). So was I. 

Dr. Suteliffe. We have only just broken the news to our old 
friend. 

Farintosh. It appears that the young lady went off with 



SCHOOL 443 

somebody — who was not a young lady. These things hap- 
pen; girls are but girls, we must not expect them to be 
angels. 

Krux (shaking his head}. No ; if you do, you'll be contin- 
ually disappointed, continually disappointed. 

Farintosh. However, my dear friends, the news I bring will, 
I am sui'e, give you pleasure (Mrs. Sutcliffe and Br. SutcUffe^ 
and all except Krux and Naomi sit on a garden seat}., even in 
the midst of your grief. You know, Theodore, that my poor 
son (with emotion) died without my forgiveness. My boy died, 
leaving a wife and child. For years I have been in search of 
them, but owing to the frequent names assumed by poor Fred 
for the sake of avoiding creditors, and to his having been some 
time abroad, I could find no traces of either my daughter-in- 
law or my grandchild. At last they are found. 

Dr. Sutcliffe (rising). My dear old friend, receive my con- 
gratulations. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. And mine. 

Naomi (crossing to Farintosh). Oh, I'm so glad. It must 
be so beautiful to have a father. 

Farintosh (keeping Naomi's hand). My dear child, you shall 
soon see our meeting. As I said, my lawyer has traced them 
out ; my daughter-in-law, poor Fred's wife, is dead — 

Krux. I congrat — (Jack silences him.) 

Farintosh. But her child lives — lives — lives, my dear 
friends ; lives to be the center object of my affections ; lives 
to be a solace and a comfort to the few years remaining to 
me here, — for I have been a foolish, vain old fellow, and tried 
to pass off for a young fop when I was only an old fool. 1 
thought of all this night and day as I lay in bed, when they 
told me I was dying, and the hardest pang of all was that I 
should not live long enough to see my grandchild ; but I re- 
covered. I was never better, never so thankful or so well. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. We are so pleased. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Your happiness compensates us for our 
grief. 



444 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

Farlntosh. My dear friends, if you had children, or if you 
ever have, — but I suppose that is almost past hope now — you 
could imagine my joy. You shall witness it. I invited you 
on purpose, for my granddaughter is here. 

Jack. Here ? 

FarintosJi. Yes. 

Naomi. Here ! Is it Milly or Tilly or Laura or Clara or 
Hetty or Kitty? 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. Did you bring her with you ? 

Farintosh. What, — didn't I tell you ? What a stupid old 
man I am ! Now comes the tremendous and delightful sur- 
prise. My poor boy's last alias was Mountain, his wife's 
maiden name ; pressed everywhere by creditors, she retained 
the name after his death. Mrs. Mountain, as she called her 
self, died in the village, here close by, leaving her child to an 
old woman called Marks, who brought her up — till you — you 
adopted her — you — you, best of men and women, you — my 
old college chum (^shaking Br. Sutcliffe s hand)^ and my old 
sweetheart (kissing her hand}. She is known here by the 
name of Bella Marks. I suppose I saw her when I was here 
a month ago, but I don't remember her among so many, perhaps. 
Ah, me I I did not notice her. Now where is she ? This is 
the supreme moment of my life. Give her to me. I can con- 
tain myself no longer. My heart is hungry for her. Call 
Bella, my grandchild. Call her. Give her to me. (A pause.} 
What is the matter with you ? Isn't she at home ? Is she out 
on a visit ? If so, never mind. -Send for her. (Naomi bursts 
out sobbing.} My child. She's not dead ! (Naomi gives him 
her hand.} No, no, thank Heaven. Well then — what — 
what — what — (Gietting alarmed. } Tell me ! Tell me — (A 
pause.} 

Krux. Sir, if no one else will tell you, I will. 

Farintosh. Go on. 

Krux. Bella, your granddaughter, left here six weeks ago. 
It seems that, in mentioning the fact of a pupil who was miss- 
ing in London, Mrs. Sutcliffe has not mentioned her name. 



SCHOOL 445 

The girl whom she has told you of, who eloped clandestinely, 
was Bella Marks — 1 should say is Bella Farintosh — your 
granddaughter. 

Farintosh (jumping up and seizing him^. You lie ! I'll throt- 
tle you, dog, and kill you ! (Jack takes Krux hy the collar of his 
coat and twists him into a corner.^ It's not true. Theodore, 
my friend, say it's not true. Poyntz — (to Naomi) My child, 
speak — speak ! 

Krux. It's quite true, upon my honor as a gentleman. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. My dear friend ! 

Farintosh. To find her, but to find her lost ! 

Dr. Sutcliffe. It may not be as bad as we suppose. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. My husband went to London to seek out — 

Farintosh. And the name of the man she was supposed to 
accompany? (Another pause.) His name? You may tell me 
— I can bear it now. His name, I say. 

Krux. Lord Beaufoy. 

Farintosh. My nephew ! (Sinks into seat. (jf-ate hell is 
heard ; Krux goes up and opens the gate.) 

Krux. Lord Beaufoy ! 

(Enter Lord Beaufoy ; Krux shuts the gate.) 

Lord Beaufoy. My dear uncle. Doctor and Mrs. Sutcliffe — 
Jack ! (Saluting them all gaily ; pause.) Why, what's the 
matter ? 

Dr. Sutcliffe (rising). My Lord Beaufoy, we believe that 
you, and you only, can tell us the hiding place of Bella Marks. 

Naomi (crying). My poor Bella ! 

Krux. A most improper young person. 

Lord Beaufoy. The hiding place of Bella Marks ? Yes, I 
admit I know it. What then ? 

Dr. Sutcliffe. What then? But I forget — Lord Beaufoy, 
you are ignorant that — 

Farintosh (rising). Let me tell him, Theodore. You are 
ignorant that Bella is my granddaughter and your cousin. 



446 THOMAS WILLIAM BOBEBTSON 

Lord Beaufoy. No. Two days ago my lawyer, who, as you 
know, is also yours, informed me of the fact. 

Farintosh. And fearing that I should alter the disposition 
of my property, you accomplished this ruin for revenge. 

Lord Beaufoy. Not so ; when Miss Farintosh left Mrs. Sut- 
cliffe's I believed her to be only Bella Marks. 

Farintosh. Then all may be repaired. Arthur, my nephew, 
you — you know I'm rich. My granddaughter shall inherit all 
I have. I can't last long. Let me implore you — marry her. 

Lord Beaufoy. Marry her ! Impossible. 

Farintosh. Impossible ? 

Lord Beaufoy. Yes, I cannot. 

Farintosh. Why not ? 

Lord Beaufoy. I am already married. 

Jack and Farintosh. Married ? 

Farintosh. Secretly ? 

Lord Beaufoy. Yes, secretly. 

Farintosh {going to his seat). My punishment — my punish- 
ment ! 

Lord Beaufoy (to Jack) . And apropos^ Jack — 

Jack. Lord Beaufoy, understand that from this time we are 
strangers. My contempt for you is too deep for utterance. 

Lord Beaufoy. You shall apologize to me for those words. 

Jack. Apologize ! 

Lord Beaufoy. And be sorry that you used them. Your 
indignant virtue amuses me, and so does yours, and yours. I 
thought (to Jack) you were a cynic ; you used to profess that 
no occurrence on this earth could be of the slightest conse- 
quence. Was your cynicism only a sham ? If so, how do you 
defend it ? If mock virtue be a bad sort of hypocrisy, what is 
mock vice ? For you — (to Dr. Sutcliffe and Mrs. Sutcliffe) 
how can you reproach me ? Bella is contented and happy. She 
does not fetch or carry like a servant. She rings bells, she 
does not answer them. (To Farintosh.) Your parental inter- 
est is a somewhat sudden spasm of affection. You've lived 
the last eighteen years happily without her. Whence this 



SCHOOL 447 

new-born feeling? Am I to suppose it is compensation — or 
too late remorse — or a desire to be tended by a nurse who 
takes no wages ? Why has this neglected child become so 
suddenly an object of such tenderness ? Not because she has 
been poor, unloved, and unprotected ; but because she's the 
grandchild of a rich, proud gentleman, who has forgotten his 
duty to her for twenty years, to remember it during his seventy- 
first. 

Dr. Sutcliffe (crossing to Mrri). Lord Beaufoy, ladies are 
present. I am an old man, but if you do not instantly quit 
this place, by Heaven, I'll conduct you by the collar — 

(Lord Beaufoy hows politely to Dr. Sutcliffe. All the girls 
enter. ~) 

Milly. Oh, Dr. Sutcliife, we saw such a lovely carriage and 
footmen coming towards the school. 

Lord Beaufoy (to Dr. Sutcliffe). I will go without assist- 
ance ; but before I go. Dr. Sutcliffe (going up towards gate)., 
let me present you to Lady Beaufoy. (Opens the gate. Dis- 
covers Bella dressed in bridal costume. Two footmen follow her. 
To Farintosh., bringing her down.) My wife, and your grandchild. 

Farintosh. My darling child ! (Embracing Bella,) 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. My favorite pupil ! 

Naomi (suppressing a sob). Please pass her round. I want 
to kiss her, too. (Bella crosses to Naomi.) Oh, my darling — 
my true, real Lady ! 

(Farintosh., in his extreme delight., kisses Mrs. Sutcliffe.) 

Dr. Sutcliffe. My Dear ! For thirty-five years — 

Farintosh. But, my dear Arthur, how could you be so 
cruel ? 

Lord Beaufoy. My dear uncle, how could you be so sus- 
picious ? Knowing that you wished me to marry in what con- 
ventional cant calls my own rank, I prevailed on Bella, who 
reluctantly consented to become my wife — knowing that not 
even an archbishop could unmarry us. Imagine my delight 
when, on my return to town, my laAvyer informed me that un- 
knowingly I had wedded my own cousin. 



448 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

Naomi. Of course you're cousins. It isn't unlawful for — 
no — cousins can marry. That's a real comfort, isn't it ? 

Lord Beaufoy. We went to your house, were told that you 
had flown here, came after you. I wished to present my Lady 
to her old friends in proper form — and, really, your reception 
was such that I resolved to punish you. {Music.} 

Bella (to FarintosK). You will not be ashamed of your 
grandchild because she has not been brought up amid the lux- 
ury to which she will try to grow accustomed ? 

Farintosh. Ashamed? My — my — my happiness is only 
too great. 

Bella (to Dr. and Mrs. Sutcliffe'). And you, my dear kind 
friends, to whom I owe everything, will forgive me for the 
suspense I have caused you. I would have written, but my 
Lord — 

Lord Beaufoy (correcting her} . Arthur. 

Bella. Arthur wanted me to keep silent, and — 

Br. Sutcliffe. The end crowns the means. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe. My sweet darling, I had no apprehensions. 
I always knew that your destiny would be a high one. 

Bella (to Naomi}. And you'll come and pass your holidays 
with me? 

Naomi. Yes, Dear, and you shall show me all your new 
things. 

Br. Sutcliffe (to Lord Beaufoy}. I have to ask your Lord- 
ship's pardon. 

Jack. I could bite my tongue off, Arthur, for what I said 
just now. 

Lord Beaufoy. Not another word ; you were all quite right. 
I told you. Jack, you would be sorry. (Music ceases.} 

Bella. Mr. Krux, I'm sure you wish me every happiness. 

Krux. Every happiness. Miss Bella. 

Naomi. Miss Bella I Do you know whom you are talking 
to ? Lady Beaufoy — Lady Beaufoy ! 

Br. Sutcliffe. Mr. Krux, if you would like to take your 
usual walk now, don't let regard for us prevent you. 



SCHOOL 449 

Krux. Thank you, Dr. Sutcliffe. (^Bows and goes off.') 

Naomi {quickly). Jack, do you love me? 

Jack. Naomi ! 

Naomi. Then run after Krux and give him a good thrash- 
ing. You won't mind, will you? 

Jack. It will be a pleasure. {JExit Jack after Krux.) 

Tilly (reading from hook). "Cinderella was then conducted 
to the young Prince, who instantly asked her to accept his 
hand. The marriage ceremony took place in a few days, and 
Cinderella gave her sisters magnificent apartments in the 
palace." 

Milly. " And a short time after, married them to two great 
Lords of the court." 

All the Girls. Oh, my Lady ! 

Naomi. It's just like the story — Prince, carriage, footmen, 
and all. (Taking up pumpkin from flower bed.) And to think 
that this should ever grow up into that. (Indicating the foot- 
men^ and placing pumpkin at their feet.) 

Farintosh. And in this fairy story, what am I? 

Naomi. You're the godmother. 

Lord Beaufoy' (taking case from footman). Knowing my 
Avife's talent for narrative, I have here something I could offer 
to her only on this spot. 

Bella. Another present for me? 

Lord Beaufoy. A pair of glass slippers. ( Opening case and 
:aking them out.) 

(jKrls. Oh ! (They go round Lord Beaufoy and Bella.) 

(Enter Jack.) 

Naomi. Did you do it? 
Jack. Yes. 

Naomi. Did you hurt him much? 

Jack. He said I did, — and I believe he spoke the truth. 
Farintosh (taking the hands of Dr. and Mrs. Sutcliffe). See, 
my friends, how a good deed germinates into a great one. 

SCH. IN COM. — 29 



450 THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

Your past kindness to a friendless orphan girl is the cause of 
all our present happiness. 

Dr. Sutcliffe. No, no. Not so. Your nephew's nature is 
an exceptionally fine one. He is, in the highest sense of the 
word, a gentleman, and there is no sight under the sun finer 
than a true gentleman. 

FarintosJi. Except one. 

Br. Sutcliffe. Eh? 

Farintosh. A true lady. 

Br. Sutcliffe. So many things are required for the composi- 
tion of the real thing. One wants nobility of feeling. 

Farintosh. A kind heart. 

Br. Sutcliffe. A noble mind. 

Farintosh. Modesty. 

Br. Sutcliffe. Gentleness. 

Farintosh. Courage. 

Br. Sutcliffe. Truthfulness. 

Farintosh. Birth. 

Br. Sutcliffe. Breeding. 

Mrs. Sutcliffe (coming hetween theni). And, above all, — 
School. 



VIII 
BAEDEEN 



CHARLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

Twenty years ago a new educational journal, entitled The School Bulletin, 
was established by C. W. Bardeen, a young man of twenty-seven years. 
The proprietor was a native of Groton, Mass., who had gone to the war as a 
drummer boy in the 1st Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, at the age of 
fifteen, and, later, had won distinction in the educational field. 

In the columns of The Bulletin, in 1878, appeared a serial story which 
attracted the attention of educators in all parts of the country. It was 
entitled Roderick Hume, and was professedly "the story of a New York 
teacher." It was written with the specific view of portraying certain 
phases of the modern graded school. The narrative was not designed as 
a satire, though a vein of humor ran through it all; nor was it to be taken 
as an autobiography, though the author's own experiences were more or 
less interwoven with it. The interest of the story increased from month 
to month, and widely extended the reputation of The School Bulletin and 
its editor. 

Letters received from all parts of the country revealed, in fact, a phe- 
nomenal interest in its outcome. When the fifteenth chapter was reached, 
a strong protest was received from many of the readers, who claimed that 
this chapter was wrong in its judgment and immoral in its tendency. 
This, however, did not deter the author from his course, and the story 
was completed in accordance with the original plan. Subsequently it 
appeared in book form, and it has since held a unique place in American 
literature. 

Roderick Hume differs from Thompson's Locke Amsden and from Eggles- 
ton's Hoosier Schoolmaster — its predecessors in educational fiction — both 
in style and in scope. It is, in fact, the only novel of any distinction which 
portrays the American graded school. 

Its author was among the younger educators of Xew York. Two years 
of his youth were passed in the army. In a single year, after his return 
from the war, he made up a sufficient number of his studies to complete 
the course in the Lawrence Academy ; and four years later (1869), he was 
graduated from Yale College. He taught for six years, his experience in- 
cluding the superintendency of the schools at Whitehall, N.Y., and the vice- 
principalship of the Connecticut State Normal School. 

453 



454 CHARLES WILLIAM BABDEEN 

Those six years contained a world of experience for a person of his quick 
aptitude, close observation, and acute analysis of character. Almost every 
phase of educational work, from the most elementary department of the 
public schools to the most advanced department of the university, had 
become familiar to him. Mr. Bardeen is a " born " teacher. He has a 
natural aptitude for the work, and a remarkable enthusiasm. He seems 
to have the power to place himself in the position of the pupil or student 
of whatever grade or circumstances, and knows just what he requires. 

As a writer, he possesses a simple and easy style ; as a scholar, he enjoys 
an extensive acquaintance with literature. 

In 1884 appeared a school text-book from his pen, entitled A System of 
Rhetoric. The work embodies many highly original and attractive features 
which render it an interesting volume even to the casual reader. The prin- 
ciples of the science are happily illustrated by a seemingly inexhaustible 
fund of historical and literary reference, anecdote, wit, and humor. It is an 
extensive volume (of 673 pages). An abridgment, of less than half of the 
original size, has been published under the title A Shorter Course in Rhetoric. 
Both books have been very well received. 

In addition to these, Mr. Bardeen is the author of Outlines of Sentence 
Making, Verbal Pitfalls, and Common School Law. 



THE NORWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 

I. The Teachers' Bureau 

"I want a place to teach school." 

The speaker was a young man of medium height, and broad 
but somewhat stooping shoulders. His face was frank and 
earnest. His eyes and his voice expressed directness and de- 
cision. 

All this the manager took in while he was reaching for a 
blank application-form. 

"He means business," said the manager to himself. To the 
applicant he said : 

"You will fill this blank, please." 

The stranger seated himself at a neighboring desk and 



THE NOB WAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 455 

glanced over the questions with the quizzical smile usually 
assumed by a man Avho considers himself modest, when asked 
to describe himself. 

^^ Name. Roderick Hume," he wrote readily enough. 

^^ Age. Twenty-four." 

" Where educated. Graduated at Wilbraham in 1867, and at 
Wesleyan University in 1871." 

''^Experience in teaching. Mostly private, fitting boys for 
college." 

'' What can you teach best? College preparatory studies." 

" Can you teach common English hranches ? Presume not, 
without cramming." 

^^ Higher English? Probably I could, in the usual vague 
manner, and with the usual vaguer results." 

''Latin? Yes." 

''Greek? Yes." 

"French? Have done it, but I ought to be ashamed of it. I 
can read it fairly well, but couldn't order a dinner in it wi-th- 
out special preparation." 

"CrermanP Ditto, only more so." 

"Any other languages? Not worth mentioning." 

"Singing? Yes, but I don't mean to; I haven't patience 
enough." 

" Instrumental music ? Yes ; the drum. I learned it in the 
army; but I don't insist upon its being made a part of the 
curriculum." 

"Elocution? I can teach that it is a humbug; at least as 
usually understood and practiced." 

" G-ymnastics ? No ; but I can cut the Dutch Roll backwards, 
and play a fair first base." 

"Are you married? No; I don't mind adding that I don't 
mean to be, at present." 

"Are you a church member ? Yes." 

" Give reference to some one luho knows you personally. Presi- 
dent Joseph Cummings, Middletown, Conn." 

" Give reference to some one icho hiows of you as a teacher. 



456 CHARLES WILLIAM BARLEEN 

Major-General Andrew S. Jessup, of Windham Military Insti- 
tute." 

" What kind of a position do you desire ? Principal of a public 
school, or first-class department work." 

" What salary ? Not less than 11000, and as much more as I 
can get." 

Roderick read over his answers carefully, and was satisfied 
with them. He reasoned that the more individuality he in- 
fused into them, the more likely his application would be to 
make an impression and be remembered. So he handed in the 
paper, accompanied by the registration fee of two dollars. 

"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hume," said the 
manager, after looking over the paper. " I will write at once 
to the gentlemen you refer to, and shall be able to talk with 
you about one or two positions next Saturday." 

When Roderick presented himself, the manager greeted him 
cordially. 

"Your references are very satisfactory, Mr. Hume; very 
satisfactory. You are certainly entitled to a desirable posi- 
tion." 

"Then you really did write to them?" asked Roderick, in 
some surprise. " I took it for granted that this asking for ref- 
erences was only a matter of form, and never dreamed of your 
wasting any postage stamps upon them." 

The manager smiled. 

"How do you suppose we can feel safe in recommending one 
of whose past history we know nothing save from his own state- 
ments ? " he asked. 

"Why, from his appearance," said Roderick, impetuously. 
"I would give more for five minutes' talk with a man, face to 
face, than for all the information I could get about him in a 
week of correspondence." 

"That is a common opinion," replied the manager suavely, 
"particularly among those of limited experience. I have fur- 
nished positions to nearly four hundred and fifty teachers, and I 
know somewhat intimately as many more. My success in 



THE NOmVAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 457 

business depends entirely upon my skill in putting men where 
they will fit. I used to rely mainly upon what I could judge 
of an applicant from his speech and manner. A good many 
mortifying blunders have taught me that reliable persons who 
have known him five 3^ears can assist me materially in sus- 
taining or modifying a judgment I have had to form in five 
minutes." 

"But will they assist you?" persisted Roderick. "All re- 
plies I ever saw to references might have been printed from 
stereotyped plates. They have always known the young man 
a long time, they esteem him very highly, and anything you 
can do to further his interests will be held by them in high 
appreciation. Of course no one would refer to anybody who 
was too ill-natured to sa}^ this." 

" On the contrary, fully one third of the references given us 
are answered to the discredit of the applicant. Whether it is 
that they assume, as you did, that the reference will never be 
used, and therefore select the most noted person of their ac- 
quaintance because the name looks better; or whether, as is 
more likely, they really have no conception of the contempt in 
which they are held, I don't know. But we get some responses 
that would make the applicant's ears tingle. We consider 
them confidential, but I will read you one as a specimen, omit- 
ting names. It is from the president of one of our oldest col- 
leges," continued the manager, as he drew forth a letter from 
a convenient pigeon-hole. "Listen to this: 



" ' Dear Sir : The blanks sent by you for information regardin 



Mr. , I return, carefully and conscientiously filled. They intelligibly 

outline his personal peculiarities. I will only add that he has thus far dis- 
gi'aced every institution with which lie has been connected, and that he has 
every prospect of maintaining his reputation. 

" ' Very truly yours.' " 

"What are the blanks referred to?" inquired Roderick, feel- 
ing that he would very much like to see what President Cum- 
mings had written of him. 



458 CHARLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

'' Oh I we ask a good many questions — whether anything is 
known to the discredit of the applicant; what are his individ- 
ual, social, and business habits; whether his personal appear- 
ance is pleasing; and many others." 

"Do you get all these questions answered?" 

"Not always. But we urge that the replies will be held 
sacredly confidential, to be used only in enabling us to judge 
where it is safe for us to send a man ; and that nothing can be 
more important than that the teachers of our children shall be 
in every way suitable for their positions. We add that if no 
answer is received we shall assume that nothing could be said 
except to the injury of the applicant. So we usually get some 
reply." 

"But are the replies discriminating and honest?" 

"Hardly ever. There are few who understand that severity 
when deserved is often true charity; still fewer who, when 
they mean that a man has taught a fairly satisfactory school, 
can refrain from saying that he is the best teacher they ever 
saw. For all this we learn to make allowance." 

Roderick laughed. 

"Do you know I have a mind to ask a favor?" he said, with 
a hesitation unusual in him. 

"What is it?" 

"I would like to know what Dr. Cummings thinks of my 
personal appearance ? I really have never been told what kind 
of a looking fellow I am to others." 

This time the manager laughed, and looked at his candidate 
somewhat closely. Evidently Roderick was honestly doubtful. 

" I will read you what the Doctor says : 

" ' Personal appearance. Manly and pleasing. 
" ' Dress. Neat and simple. 

" ' Social qualifications. Reserved with strangers, but agreeable and fond 
of society.' " 

"That will do," said Roderick, "and I am very much 
obliged." 



THE NORWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 459 

He said no more about it, but was evidently gratified and 
somewhat surprised. The fact was, he had started low. He 
had been a hired hand on a farm, a striker in a foundry, a pri- 
vate in the army. He had a high ideal, and felt confident of 
his intellectual ability. But he knew that social po.sition and 
the graces of society were not his by birthright or culture ; and 
he felt that it was only by now and then using the opinions 
of others to measure his height that he could feel assured how 
far he had risen on the social ladder. 



II. What Makes a Teacher Successful 

"What constitutes a successful teacher?" asked Roderick. 

"You ask a hard question. One would naturally name 
among the first requisites thorough scholarship. In depart- 
ment work, at least, where a man is responsible only for in- 
struction in a single subject, or class of studies, we might 
expect almost profound learning. But we seldom find even a 
desire for profound learning. I called once upon the instruc- 
tor in natural science in one of our largest high schools. Ap- 
paratus had been lavishly provided b}^ the board of education : 
few colleges are so well suj)plied. I was particularly inter- 
ested in a sjoectroscope, which had been imported at the cost of 
nearly four hundred dollars, and I promised to return after 
school to see it tried. I did so, in company Avith a friend, and 
the instructor made pompous preparation for the display. It 
soon appeared that the only substance he had ever tried was 
common salt. I scraped up a little dust from the table in the 
laboratory and placed it under the instrument. He not only 
did not know what substance the bands in the spectrum, indi- 
cated, but he did not know how to find out what they indicated. 
I asked for charts of the spectrum, and he said he had none, 
although four of the volumes displayed in the rack upon the 
table contained as frontispieces the very charts wanted. W^hen 
we had entered we had passed through the laboratory, and 



460 CHABLES WILLIAM BABDEEN 

paused to admire the profusion of chemicals. M}'- friend asked 
him if he taught physics as well as chemistry. He replied in 
the negative, adding that he gave instruction only in chemistry 
and natural philosophy." 

"Probably he didn't stay there long," said Roderick. 

" On the contrary, he is there to-day, and will stay as long 
as he cares to. He does not happen to be regarded as a success- 
ful teacher, but nobody has complained of his scholarship. In 
fact, there is nobody to find out anything about it. The prin- 
cipal of the school knows nothing whatever of natural science, 
and the board of education is entirely political. 

" I know another man, elected to precisely the same position 
in another city. A boy in the school, who had natural apti- 
tude for taxidermy and kindred arts, had articulated success- 
fully the skeleton of a large tom-cat. On the first day this 
teacher appeared before his class he congratulated them upon 
having so excellent a skeleton of the ant-eater. The boy who 
had set it up rather curtly interposed that it wasn't an ant- 
eater, but a tom-cat. The teacher told him he must be mis- 
taken, and proceeded to prove it. The boy replied that he had 
killed the tom-cat himself, and ought to know. The teacher 
persisted, pointing out that the jaws had no teeth. The boy 
retorted by showing the sockets from which the teeth had 
fallen out. Even then the teacher yielded very reluctantly, 
and never fairly confessed that he had made an absurd 
blunder." 

"Wasn't he quite a young man?" asked Roderick. 

"Yes; he had been out of the normal school only a year." 

" Then he ought not to be condemned for this single slip, so 
almost inevitable when one attempts to show off. I once held 
a like position and did quite as silly things. In college I 
learned chemistry only from two terms of text -book work, and 
when 1 came to teach it I found I knew nothing of it practi- 
cally. I began, as most beginners do, by spilling a little acid 
upon my trousers, thus making a red spot. A fellow-teacher 
asked me if I could not restore the color, and I replied, no: 



THE NORWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 461 

that the color had been burned out. Of course I could have 
told her very glibly about litmus, but it had not occurred to 
me that ammonia Avould restore the blue in my pantaloons as 
readily as in the test-paper. 

" A few days after, I was showing chemicals to the class, and 
one of them inquired if I had any aqua fortis. I replied that 
I had none. 'That looks like it,' she said, pointing to a glass- 
stoppered bottle. 'No,' said I; 'that is nitric acid.' " 

"Did you afterward acknowledge your mistake?" asked the 
manager, eyeing Roderick rather keenly. 

" Oh ! no, it wouldn't have done at that time. You see I 
was just beginning, and was making blunders all the time. 
If they discovered one, they would be stimulated to watch for 
more. While I was getting started, I covered up everything 
as well as I could. In this case, of course, I looked up aqua 
fortis after school, and found it was the same as nitric acid. 
I knew that some of the class would look it up with the same 
result, so I took care the next day to say incidentally that the 
contents of our bottles were all chemically pure ; that this clear 
yellow liquid, for instance, was real nitric acid, and not the 
similar but impure article known in commerce as aqua fortis." 

"But this sort of deception cannot be maintained with a 
class very long, Mr. Hume. One may deceive men and women 
for years, but scholars will find one out." 

" Oh ! you may be sure I got out of these blunders as soon as 
I could. The first Saturday that came around I went to Bos- 
ton, called on Professor Eliot, told him just the predicament I 
was in, and asked him to let me spend my Saturdays in the 
laboratory of the School of Technology. He gave me as a 
private tutor a student in one of the special courses, and I soon 
picked up the habit of handling apparatus and performing ex- 
periments. In fact, after four or five Saturdays I believed that 
in manipulation I had caught up with m}^ instructor. We were 
to make chlorine gas; the apparatus was prepared; the oxide 
was in the flask; and the acid had been poured upon it. No 
gas came over. What could the matter be ? My tutor was at 



462 CHARLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

a loss. He examined the connections of the tubing; looked at 
the bottle, to see that he had taken the right acid; into the 
drawer to see that he had taken the right powder. 'I really 
can't see what the trouble is,' he said. Then I looked at the 
book, and suggested that we were directed to heat the flask. 
We did so, and the gas came off abundantly. I concluded that 
if it was I who was to give the instruction, it should not be I 
who paid for it. So I settled with him, and thereafter did my 
own experimenting. And what is more, I taught my class 
considerable chemistry, little as I knew when I began. In- 
deed, before the term was half over I could acknowledge a 
mistake with perfect safety." 

"I see you agree with Josh Billings, that the wise man is 
not he who never makes a mistake, but he who never makes the 
same mistake a second time." 

"Precisel}^ I could never understand how a teacher can be 
contented to reply to the same question day after day, 'I don't 
know.' It is perhaps excusable that he should not know when 
he is first asked. But his attention has now been called to his 
deficiency, and he should seize the earliest opportunity to make 
it good. I have seen a principal sit with his elbow leaning 
upon Webster's Unabridged, and reply to the question whether 
it was Webster or Worcester who spelled offence with an ,«, 'I 
really don't remember.' " 

" Thus showing himself ignorant of the end to be attained 
by school instruction, which is the acquisition, not of informa- 
tion, but of knowledge how to acquire information, and a habit 
of acquiring it when it is wanted." 

"But to get back to our sheep," said Roderick; "if scholar- 
ship is not a requisite to success in teaching, what is ? " 

Roderick Hume was not a ready talker. He had nothing of 
the light wit which flashes from subject to subject, illuminat- 
ing the most frothy topics, and at the service indifferently of 
friend or stranger, philosopher or debutante. Nor was he, on 
the other hand, a deep thinker. But his mind was quick to 
catch a suggestive thought, his reading had been careful, and 



THE NORWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 463 

his memory supplied upon occasion the essence of whatever he 
had heard or read which could be made -available. He was, 
therefore, easily drawn out when brought face to face with 
thought or experience, and became at once an intelligent lis- 
tener and an earnest debater. It was then that he showed most 
of his real self: of his strength, which lay in his candor and 
earnestness; of his weakness, which lay in his impulsiveness. 
He never said what he did not believe; but he believed too 
readily, and expressed himself too positively. All this the 
manager had seen, and had continued the conversation in order 
to study him more thoroughly. 

"The fellow will make a distinct mark of some sort," he 
thought to himself. " It will pay me to know him intimately 
and follow his career." 

So he replied: 

" You must bear in mind that in this office we must measure 
success by popular approval. ' How much is he paid ? ' ' How 
well is he liked? ' ' How much does he have his own way? ' 
These are the questions we have to ask in deciding how well a 
man is likely to succeed in another position. Of course, these 
queries cover very inadequately the real question, ' How com- 
petent is he to develop his pupils into intelligent men and 
women ? ' But so imperfect is modern supervision that in 
appraising teachers for the school board market Ave have to 
consider mainly what they can show in the way of what are 
called tangible, almost statistical, results. 

" Looking at the matter in this light, the first qualification 
is tact. Our teachers are elected annually. To be reelected, 
they must get votes. To get votes they must be in the good 
graces of the board of education. For this it should be neces- 
sary only that the teacher keep a good school. But some of the 
members of an ordinary board of education never visit the 
school. Hardly any of them would know whether a good school 
was being kept if they did visit it. They therefore judge of 
the principal partly by what the scholars say, and partly by 
their own personal acquaintance with him. Most of them are 



464 CHARLES WILLIAM BABBEEN 

business men, with whose habits and tastes the teacher has very 
little in common: hence he is apt to approach them only upon 
business connected with the school. But the man of tact takes 
pains to get acquainted with them, and show them that he is 
a royal good fellow, and that he thinks they are royal good 
fellows. He takes pains to ask their advice upon subjects that 
they know nothing about, but will be flattered to be supposed 
to know something about. He takes pains that their children 
and the children of their neighbors shall be noticed in school, 
and given prominent places at public entertainments, avoiding 
at the same time any suspicion of partialit}'. In short, he 
recognizes the fact that very few people know whether he is 
imparting any instruction upon the principles of sound educa- 
tion, but that all people like to receive attention. And he 
will succeed. If he has with this tact fair scholarship, fair 
disciplinary power, and the habit of living within his salary, 
he will stay as long as he wants to. If he lacks any or all of 
these, he will see in advance at just what election the majority 
will turn against him, and resign in time to get a flaming 
recommendation from a unanimous board. 

"Now, do not understand me that a man cannot succeed 
without this tact. An earnest, conscientious, judicious man 
of good attainments may usually hold himself above any more 
considerations of policy. But under our system of annual 
elections by political boards of education, tact is the only qual- 
ity certain of success." 

"I don't believe I have tact,"- said Roderick, wondering if 
the manager would think him earnest, conscientious, and judi- 
cious enough to get along without it. 

"To be frank with you," was the reply, "I don't think you 
have. You are too positive, too outspoken, too independent. 
You will meet considerable difficulty that you will afterward 
see how you could have avoided, and that you ought to have 
avoided. I think you will do well to cultivate the habit of 
consulting the members of the board ; for you are by law only 
their agent in the general management of the school. Even 



THE NORWAY FBEE HIGH SCHOOL 465 

if they are incompetent, and if they seem willing to leave every- 
thing in your hands, you Avill find it wise to consult them, 
both to relieve yourself from unnecessary responsibility, and 
to gratify them with exercising at least the semblance of the 
power with which they are intrusted." 

At this moment the manager was called away for a few 
moments, leaving Roderick thoughtful but confident. The 
advice was excellent, and of some assistance. But if leopards 
change their spots, it is only by gradual development through 
successive generations. Master Tommy Cheetah may usually 
be recognized in Hon. Thomas Cheetah, LL.D., even though 
he has moved in very good society through the intervening 
years. 

HI. The Norway Free High School and College Prepara- 
tory Institution 

The stage connected with a western train, and Roderick had 
several hours to spare in Norway. Thinking he could not 
better occupy his time than in visiting the public school, he 
made his way up the sandy hillside on which that institution 
had been located. 

Knocking at the first door that led from the hall, he inquired 
for the principal. Evidently visitors were frequent and wel- 
come, for the little girl who answered his summons politely 
invited him to accompany her, and led him up two pairs of 
long and steep stairs to the main room. 

"That is Professor Cobb, at the desk," she said. 

Professor Cobb came forward at once and greeted Roderick 
cordially. He was a fine-looking man, six feet tall, rather 
heavily built, and dressed loudly but neatly. When he had 
learned Roderick's name and the business which had called 
him so far away from the city, he declared himself happy and 
eager to show him about. He took him first into the tower, 
and pointed out landmarks in nine different counties, adding 
that the Alps Collegiate Institute never claimed to show but 

SCH. IX COM. 30 



466 CHARLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

seven. Then he led him down all the stairs into the base- 
ment, calling attention to the furnaces, which worked very 
well when aided by a stove in each room, and to the closets, 
which were elegantly fitted up, but not used because of some 
trouble with the waterworks. Then he unlocked the door 
of the apparatus room, which was profuse and handsomely 
arranged, but with hardly a complete piece in the collec- 
tion. On inquiry, Roderick learned that the apparatus was 
never used, but had been purchased because the Regents 
required it. 

Then Professor Cobb led the way through the departments. 
On each floor were four rooms connected by glass doors which 
could be pushed back, thus throwing the four rooms into one. 
Professor Cobb had this change made upon each floor as they 
passed through, and put the children through exercises in 
singing and gymnastics. The discipline was conspicuous. 
Every eye of every child rested upon Professor Cobb. If a 
mistake was made, Professor Cobb snapped his fingers with a 
report like a popgun, and not only the offender but the dozen 
children nearest the offender nervously jumped. 

The teachers were under similar constraint, merely standing 
like older pupils, while Professor Cobb gave all the orders. 
Roderick was introduced to none of them. 

When they regained the high schoolroom, Professor Cobb 
proposed to stop all the exercises and have the five hundred 
children march b}^ the desk, a feat in which they were well 
practiced. Roderick demurred, saying that he would much 
prefer to hear one or two recitations. When Professor Cobb 
urged that this would be irksome to a stranger, Roderick replied 
that, on the contrary, nothing could be more pleasant and profit- 
able. He expected to be engaged in similar work, and wanted 
all the help he could get from the example of a teacher so 
successful. 

Professor Cobb reluctantly submitted, and handed Roderick 
the programme of classes. 

"Why, this is the time for advanced geometry," said Rod- 



THE NORWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 467 

erick, comparing the hours. " I have been keeping you from 
your class. Please call it at once." 

"Oh! Miss Lowe hears that class," said Professor Cobb. 
"I usually hear at this time a class in writing made up of those 
that require particular attention. But the period is nearly ex- 
pired, and it is hardly worth while to call a class before the 
next." 

" Oh ! very well. I see the recitations for that hour are in 
arithmetic and in Vergil. I think I will stay with you and 
hear the Latin." 

"Well, the fact is," said Professor Cobb, uneasily, "Miss 
Lowe takes the Latin classes. I find the elementary branches 
so much neglected that I have to give them my whole time in 
order to make firm the foundation stones of knowledge — the 
foundation stones of knowledge. Sir," he repeated, helped back 
to dignity by the sonorousness of the phrase. 

Perhaps the phrase was too sonorous, for it determined Rod- 
erick to stay and see some of this fixing of foundation stones. 
In spite of hints, and almost of command, he persisted in re- 
maining to witness Professor Cobb's work as a teacher. 

Professor Cobb's plan was very simple. There were some 
forty in the class, and all of them were sent to the board, thus 
lining the room. The one in the northeast corner was given 
the first problem, the one nearest to him the next, and so on. 
Each worked out the one given, compared his answer with 
that printed in the back part of the book, and if the two corre- 
sponded, raised his hand, and was given another problem. If 
the two did not correspond, the pupil tried to find out where 
the mistake was — or rather how to so alter his work that his 
answer should agree with the key. 

Professor Cobb passed about from one to another, helping 
and correcting. At the close of half an hour he tapped the 
bell, gave the class four pages more for next time, and sent 
them to their seats. 

"Do you always conduct recitations in this way?" asked 
Roderick, somewhat startled, but supposing Professor Cobb 



468 CHARLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

must have some good reason for putting the foundation stones 
so loosely together. 

" Yes, usually. The class is so large that this is the only 
way to get much work out of them." 

"And does this prepare them for the Regents' examina- 
tions?" 

"Not exactly: they recite one or two terms to Miss Lowe 
before they try." 

Further questions were prevented by a tap of the bell for 
closing school. Professor Cobb was himself again as he gave 
the signals for putting away the books, rising simultaneously, 
and marching circuitously out. 

But when the pupils were gone, Roderick began to question. 

"How many grades were there in the school?" 

Professor Cobb did not know exactly. Ten or a dozen he 
should think ; Miss Lowe would know. 

" Did they follow the object system of teaching in the lower 
rooms?" 

That was according to the taste of the teacher. Professor 
Cobb did not interfere with their methods if the results were 
satisfactory. 

" Had kindergartening ever been tried at all? " 

Professor Cobb was evidently puzzled, but replied at a ven- 
ture that considerable attention was given to ivies and window 
flowers, but that it did not seem practicable to have any out- 
door gardening about the grounds. 

Then Roderick asked to see the registers of attendance. 
These were models of neatness and ingenuity, a complete 
record being kept of every child from his entrance into the 
school. Roderick was glad to be able to give an honest com- 
pliment, and he gave it heartily. 

"I have heard it said that teachers were always wretched 
penmen," he remarked, "but your handwriting is like copper- 
plate." 

"Oh! that isn't my writing," said Professor Cobb; "I have 
no time for such details. All that work I leave to Miss Lowe." 



THE NORWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 469 

"By the way, I should like to see Miss Lowe," said Roder- 
ick; "she must be a paragon." 

"Yes, she does very well, under proper direction," said Pro- 
fessor Cobb ; " but she has gone home ; and I suppose we must 
be going, as the janitor is waiting to sweep out." 

At this Roderick instinctively turned to a man in rusty 
clothes, with sleepy-looking eyes, who had been sitting on the 
platform and listening to Roderick's questions and the replies 
they had elicited. 
. "Undoubtedly he is the janitor," said Roderick to himself. 

At this moment the supposed janitor came forward and was' 
introduced to Roderick as Mr. Dormouse, a member of the 
board of education. He asked Roderick a good many questions, 
contrived to get him away from Professor Cobb, and invited 
him to walk down to his store. This was in a rickety old 
frame building, apparently unoccupied except in what seemed 
to be a sort of a joiner's shop, with a few coffins standing about 
and one or two workmen mending furniture. 

Mr. Dormouse handed Roderick a dilapidated chair, and sat 
down upon a carpenter's horse. Looking from behind his 
sleepy little eyes, he suddenly asked: 

"What do you think of our school?" 

Roderick desired to be as complimentary as possible and 
mentioned several excellent features. 

Mr. Dormouse got up, looked at the order-book, picked out 
a pine coffin, took down some cheap muslin and some silver- 
headed tacks, began to line the coffin, and after driving one 
tack took a half dozen others out of his mouth long enough 
to ask: 

"What do you think of Professor Cobb as a teacher?" 

Roderick replied that Professor Cobb seemed to be energetic, 
a good disciplinarian, and very polite. 

The sleepy little eyes looked around a moment, a few more 
tacks were driven, and again the question came : 

" Should you teach an arithmetic class as Professor Cobb did ? " 

Roderick was obliged to confess that he did not think he 



470 CHARLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

should, qualifying the statement by saying that he had had so 
much less experience than Professor Cobb that probably he 
did not understand all that gentleman's reasons for teaching 
after that method. 

Mr. Dormouse now selected some narrow braid for the edge 
of the lining, began to tack it, and then asked : 

"Would you take the principalship of this school at fifteen 
hundred dollars a year?" 

"Most certainly, if it was vacant," replied Roderick. "But 
does Professor Cobb think of leaving?" 

"It is being thought of for him," was the reply. 

Mr. Dormouse then explained that there was a sharp divi- 
sion of feeling upon the board. Four thought Professor Cobb 
Avas the most capable teacher in the State. Four thought that 
he had held his position as long as he could with profit to him- 
self or the school. The ninth man had wavered, but was now 
convinced that Professor Cobb had better go, and it was pretty 
well understood that Professor Cobb would resign after the 
close of the present term, two weeks hence. That would leave 
a vacancy; and Mr. Dormouse said, in his moderate way, that 
when that occurred he thought it might perhaps be well for 
Roderick to become a candidate. 

Roderick promised to consider the matter, gave Mr. Dor- 
mouse his address, and took the train to New York, hardly 
expecting to see Norway again, but glad that he had visited 
its public school. 

IV. Roderick Interviews a Board of Education 

Within a week Roderick received a letter from Mr. Dor- 
mouse, saying that Professor Cobb had resigned his position 
and taken the Alps Collegiate Institute upon a five years' 
lease. The vacancy was now to be filled, and Roderick was 
invited to apply in person. He took the night train, telegraph- 
ing Mr. Dormouse to expect him the next morning. 
. When he called at the shop of the wily undertaker, he found 



THE yonWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 471 

him in conversation with a short, stubbed old gentleman, with 
white beard, rosy face, and querulous mouth. 

"Here he comes, now," said Mr. Dormouse, as Roderick 
entered: "Mr. Hume, this is Squire Marvin, president of our 
board." 

"So you've come to take Professor Cobb's place," said Mr. 
Marvin. 

"I have come to be a candidate for the place he has left 
vacant," replied Roderick. 

"Oh! well, well, I don't know. We've got a pretty fair 
school, and I believe in letting well enough alone. May be 
Professor Cobb isn't much of a scholar, but my niece — that's 
Miss Lowe, the preceptress — makes up for that. However, 
I've agreed to vote for a new man, and Mr. Dormouse here in- 
sists that we sha'n't be likely to do much better than take 

you." 

This was not an enthusiastic welcome, but Mr. Dormouse 
said, as he walked out with Roderick to call on the other 
members of the board : 

"You are old enough to know that most people talk more 
generously than they act. Squire Marvin is one of the kind 
who act more generously than they talk. You can count on 
his vote and on his support till you have had a fair trial. He 
makes up his mind slowly; but if you once get his personal 
good-will, he will find fault with you in prosperity and stand 
b}^ you in trouble. This is a different kind of a man," he con- 
tinued, as he turned the knob of an entry-door labeled, "E. 
Domite, Attorney at Law." 

Mr. Domite was a flabby man, fifty years old, who hardly 
ever had anything to do, but scraped a scanty living out of a 
small inheritance. He had spent a term or two at Union Col- 
lege, and somehow got from it an honorary A.M. He was 
narrow and bigoted; his conceit strutted most over his classi- 
cal education. 

"You are a college graduate, I believe, sir," he said to Rod- 
erick. "Aren't you very fond of Vergil?" 



472 CHARLES WILLIAM BARBEEN 

"I think I have derived some gratification from it," said 
Roderick, rather surprised; "but most of the beautiful pas- 
sages are unpleasantly loaded down in my memory with de- 
clensions and rules of syntax." 

"I enjoy Vergil very much," the attorney continued; "do 
you remember that line, — 

" ' Arma virumque cano qui primus ab oris ? ' " 

Roderick replied that he believed he did occasionally recall 
it, having fitted for college a score or so of private pupils. 

"I take great pleasure in my Latin," continued Mr. Domite: 
"I am the only classical scholar on the board. I think tlie 
scholars of our country ought to take a more prominent part 
in active life. I hope you will do all you can to encourage 
among the pupils here an appetite for the classic tongues." 

Roderick replied that, if elected, his taste and habits would 
certainly prompt him to use his efforts in that direction ; where- 
upon Mr. Domite promised him his help, and wished him good 
morning. 

On the same floor was the oflfice of Darius Angell, Esq., 
another attorney, and the clerk of the board. He was a coarsely- 
dressed man, with a little body and a big, pugnacious head. 
Up to the time he opened his mouth nobody could tell which 
side of a question he would take; it is doubtful whether he 
usually knew himself; but as soon as he had taken it, he be- 
lieved that everybody on the other side was a knave and a fool, 
and proceeded to proclaim so, more or less directly, but always 
in a loud, rasping voice, and with most offensive gestures. 
Withal there was about him a certain assumption of dignity 
woefully at variance with his appearance and habit of speech. 
So ridiculous was his manner that disinterested persons found 
him rather amusing; but he was not a pleasant person to deal 
with. 

When Mr. Dormouse introduced Roderick, Mr. Angell 
looked up with a jerk of his head and asked: 

"How are you on your muscle?" 



THE NOB WAV FREE HIGH SCHOOL 473 

"Very weak," replied Roderick, laughing; "I never fought 
but once. I believe I was eight years old then, and I might 
liave whipped, perhaps ; but somehow or other my nose got to 
bleeding, and I wanted to go home and wash it." 

"Then you are a coward, are you?" 

"An utter coward." 

"You'll never do for this school." 

"Oh! don't misunderstand me. I am physically a coward, 
but to compensate, nature has given me a knack of keeping out 
of danger. Besides, I have some pride and some determina- 
tion, and if I were put where I could not avoid trouble I should 
be apt to see it through. You have heard of the soldier re- 
proached on the field of battle for being scared. 'Yes,' he said, 
'I am scared, and if you were half as scared as I am you would 
run away.' I don't think I should run away unless things 
were in very bad shape." 

"Well, you can't run this school," said Mr. Angell, deci- 
sively. "We've got boys that respect nothing but brute force, 
spoiling for a fight. You can't do anything here with pala- 
ver. It's perfectly d — n futile." 

This was Mr. Angell's favorite expression: "Puffickly d — n 
few-tile," he pronounced it, and when he had said it there was 
no further use for argument. So Mr. Dormouse took Roderick 
to the office of a lumber yard near by and introduced him to 
Squire Coy. 

Squire Coy was rather below the medium height, had a bil- 
ious face, and was dressed in rusty but professional black. He 
had studied law, and still practiced it occasionally. He had 
made some money in business, some in speculation, some by a 
second marriage. He might have made a great deal more ex- 
cept for a mental habit of thinking the longest way around was 
the shortest way home. His hobby was diplomacy, which he 
supposed to consist in doing things crookedly. 

"H'm, h'm,"he coughed, as he scrutinized Roderick through 
eyes which he had trained to look as if they were deep set, 
" we must move cautiously in this matter. Professor Cobb is 



474 CHARLES WILLIAM BABDEEN 

very popular here, and has many influential friends. I don't 
know whether the people will be satisfied to have us hire a 
stranger. There is Captain Stone, who lives right here in the 
place, and has a very talented wife teaching in the school ; he 
has applied, and there is quite a sentiment in his favor." 

"I didn't know that there was another applicant," said Rod- 
erick, turning to Mr. Dormouse. 

"Oh! yes," replied that gentleman leisurely, "there are 
some twenty applicants. The trouble is that, like this Cap- 
tain Stone, they have no education, or experience, or character, 
so they are not likely to be engaged." 

"Oh! well, well," interrupted the Machiavelian, hastily, "I 
don't suppose we shall elect Captain Stone, but we want to 
consider all aspects of the question carefully. Under existing 
circumstances, Mr. Hume, it will be a matter of delicate diplo- 
macy to succeed in your position. The board is very evenly 
divided, and though we may barely elect you, some of us will 
need to be treated very carefully and diplomatically. In the 
management of the school you will have to know who the 
parents of the children are, and how they stand on this ques- 
tion, and be careful to placate those that are not on our 
side." 

"Then I may as well withdraw my application at once," in- 
terrupted Roderick. " You are describing a course of action 
which is more than any other simply impossible with me. If 
I come here, I must come jiot as on 'your side ' or 'the other 
side,' but as a teacher, hired to- manage your school because 
a majority of the board supposes me fit to do it. I wish to 
be judged solely by what I accomplish, and when a majority 
of the board thinks I am not competent, I shall be ready to 
go." 

Mr. Coy, becoming uneasy during this declaration, had got 
his legs stretched out and his index finger ready to argue the 
matter from a psychological foundation ; but Mr. Dormouse 
took Roderick away, on the plea of wanting to catch Tom Baker 
before he left town. 



THE NORWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 475 

'^ Tom " Baker (nobody ever spoke of him as Mr. Baker) 
was the youngest son of the wealthiest man in Norway. He 
had been a pet child, and had grown up with smooth, fat, white 
hands, and an easy, deliberate manner, so unusual in Norway, 
that he was thought of rather as his father's son than as himself 
a shrewd, generous, enterprising business man. But everybody 
respected him, and everybody liked him. For three years he 
was a popular president of the village, and he had been a 
member of the board of education from the start. He never 
said much, he hardly ever interfered ; but he never cast a 
vote which subsequent events proved to have been on the 
wrong side. 

Mr. Dormouse found him just ready to drive his family over 
to Chimborazo. Mr. Baker paused, with the reins in one hand, 
while he shook Roderick's with the other, looked the young 
man carefully over without seeming to do so, and remarked 
laughingly to Mr. Dormouse : 

"He doesn't weigh so much as Professor Cobb." 

" No, but he moves faster," was the quick reply. " We were 
looking to you to examine him a little." 

'' I can do that in one question. Mr. Hume, what do you 
consider the first duty of the principal of a school ? " 

" To be boss," replied Roderick promptly. 

Mr. Baker held out his hand once more and shook Roderick's 
heartily. 

" You are my candidate," said he, '' and I want you to take 
dinner with us, next Sunday." 

Mrs. Baker ratified the invitation, and Roderick felt sure of 
pleasant acquaintances in Norway. 

" One member of our board is out of town," said Mr. Dor- 
mouse, as they walked back to the busy part of the village ; 
" but he always goes with Squire Coy, and we are sure of his 
vote. I shall have to leave you here a few minutes ; " and he 
introduced Roderick to Mr. Abrahams, an insurance agent. 

Mr. Abrahams was a heavily-built man who trod like an ele- 
phant, his sides swaying with every step. His face was sensual, 



476 CHAELES WILLIA2I BAB BEEN 

and his eyes betokened low cunning. When he saw the door 
closed behind Mr. Dormouse, he leaned back, looked at Roderick 
solemnly, and asked in unctuous tones : 

'^ Do you love the Lord Jesus Christ with all your heart, and 
with all your mind, and with all your soul, and with all your 
strength ? " 

"No, sir," replied Roderick. 

Mr. Abrahams was taken aback. Shaking his head mourn- 
fully, he said : 

"Then I cannot consider you a suitable principal for this 
school." 

" Very well, sir," said Roderick, and turned to go. 

Like most young people of the present age, Roderick Hume 
lacked veneration for the experience and wisdom of older men ; 
but he regarded sacred things with a reverence which many 
would deem superstitious. He could not understand the pat- 
ronizing familiarity with which so many good men speak of the 
Deity, or the indifference with which they refer in public to 
their soul experience. It seemed to him sacrilege to thus vol- 
untarily cast aside the veil of what is to each man his Holy of 
Holies. As for those who deem it their duty to approach an 
utter stranger, and seek to wrest from him what Roderick 
thought must be to any thoughtful man a secret between him- 
self and his God, Roderick did not care to question their mo- 
tives, — that was their secret with God, — but he felt personally 
shocked and repelled. So he did not attempt to explain his 
abrupt reply, and could willingly have left Mr. Abrahams to 
draw any inferences he chose. But this was not at all satisfac- 
tory to Mr. Abrahams, who hastened to say : 

" But I do not understand this, Mr. Hume ; I thought you 
were a church-member?" 

"So I am, sir." 

" Then why do you say you do not love the Lord ? " 

" I did not say so, sir. You asked if I loved him with all my 
heart, and soul, and mind, and strength. That question admits 
of but one ansAver by any mortal man. If you were an inti- 



THE NORWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 477 

mate friend, I might possibly qualify my answer somewhat, but 
I cannot discuss my inner life with a stranger." 

'' But surely we have the right to ask the man who wants 
to be principal of a school of five hundred children what his 
spiritual condition is." 

" Surely you have no such right whatever. Even in the 
matter of morality you have the right to ask only evidence of 
good reputation ; you can ask no man to give proof of his 
character, even by his own mouth." 

"Do you mean to say that we have not the right to ask you 
if you are honest ? " 

" Certainly I mean to say so. In the first place, the question 
would be absurd, for only a liar can consistently say that he 
never lies. But beneath that objection is the broad principle 
that a man's character is his individual property. You may 
ask him what he has done ; never what he is." 

" Give me your hand," said Mr. Abrahams, with enthusiasm. 
" I only wanted to see if you were good at argument, and I find 
you are a whole team, with a yellow dog under the wagon." 

Roderick held out his hand reluctantly. Mr. Abrahams' 
abrupt change of manner from sanctimoniousness to the tone 
of the bar-room disgusted him. 

" You see," said Mr. Abrahams, " I am the only man on the 
board who has had extended experience in school matters, so 
that the choice of teachers is practically left to me. That was 
why Mr. Dormouse left you here, and the board will vote just 
as I say. I think you are just what we want. By the way, 
have you ever insured your life ? " 

Roderick replied in the negative. 

" You had better take out a policy in the Guardian, large 
assets, liberal premiums, and forty per cent dividends. How 
old are you ? " 

" Twenty-four, but — " 

"All right, premium 126.87; better make it two thousand 
for a start, $53.74," continued Mr. Abrahams, talking and writ- 
ing rapidly ; "you can pay it easily ; I will guarantee your en- 



478 CHARLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

gagement by the board ; the matter is left to me ; give me the 
name of an intimate friend ; " and Mr. Abrahams paused a 
moment. 

" I should like to have you understand clearly," said Roder- 
ick, with deliberate distinctness, "that I have no desire or 
intention to insure my life. When I want to do it, I will ex- 
amine into the matter and see what company I prefer to deal 
with." 

There was no mistaking his tone, and Mr. Abrahams laid 
aside the wasted application. 

" Well," he said in a moan of abused confidence, " I shall do 
what I can for you anyway, and I hope you will be elected. 
Are you a married man? " he asked, changing his tone once more. 

" I am not," replied Roderick. He did not care to use un- 
necessary words. 

" I think you ought to be," said Mr. Abrahams, with a leer ; 
" dangerous place to put a lusty young bachelor. Ten school- 
ma'ams, all good-looking and gushing. Regular cock o' the 
walk. I knew a fellow — " 

" Mr. Abrahams," said Roderick, now thoroughly indignant, 
" I do not know whether or not I shall come to Norway, but I 
can assure you that if I do come I shall deem it a part of my 
duty to protect the reputation of my fellow-teachers; and if 
ever I hear again such an insinuation as that from any man, I 
will treat him as I would if he said the words of my sister." 

As Roderick said this, he instinctively stepped forward. Mr. 
Abrahams, though he was sixty pounds heavier, as instinctively 
jumped up from his chair and got upon the other side of the 
table. 

It was some time before he recovered self-possession, and it 
was with a sickly smile that he said he was only joking. Rod- 
erick replied that he neither understood such jokes nor per- 
mitted them in his presence, and turned once more to leave. 
Mr. Abrahams reminded him that Mr. Dormouse had arranged 
to come back for him and urged him to remain, apologizing 
profusely for being misunderstood, promising his enthusiastic 



THE NOB WAT FREE HIGH SCHOOL 479 

support, and professing joy that so high-principled though 
hasty a young man was to have charge of the Norway school. 

" By the way," he added hastily, as he saw Mr. Dormouse 
approaching, '' do you return to New York ? " 

" Yes, I must go back to-night, whether I am elected or not," 
replied Roderick. 

" Then you must have an Accident Insurance ticket," said 
]Mr. Abrahams, talking so fast that Roderick could not edge in 
a word ; very fortunate that I am an agent ; only fifty cents 
for 13000, and really insures safety. Here you are. No. 15,432, 
good from seven to-night till seven to-morrow night." 

" But I have already said that I wanted no insurance," said 
Roderick. 

''Life insurance, long policy, I supposed you meant," said 
Mr. Abrahams. "I thought every prudent young man took 
these. Never mind; the tickets are numbered consecutively, 
and I shall have to pay for it myself, but no matter." And 
Mr. Abrahams sighed. 

Just then Mr. Dormouse entered. 

" What do you think of our candidate ? " he asked of Mr. 
Abrahams. 

" A very excellent and able young man," replied Mr. Abra- 
hams, in a tone of duty unrewarded and kindness unappre- 
ciated. " We are remarkably fortunate in being able to get 
him, and I shall use all my influence for him." 

"And what do you think of Mr. Abrahams?" asked Mr. 
Dormouse of Roderick as they went downstairs. 

" So far as he has shown himself I should pronounce him a 
liar, a lecher, and a thief," replied Roderick. " Whatever other 
characteristics he may have in abeyance I don't know." 

Mr. Dormouse chuckled inwardly, but to Roderick he said 
gravely : 

" I see that you rather pride yourself upon strong language, 
Mr. Hume. It is an effective weapon, but should never be 
flourished. We have only one more member to call on," he 
added, as they entered a wholesale clothing establishment. 



480 CHABLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

Mr. Blarston, the proprietor, was one of the self-made men 
who, as has been well said, worship their creators. He was 
brutal, grasping, and passionate, but brimming with physical 
energy and rude mental force. 

" So you are the fellow they have kicked out Professor Cobb 
to make way for," he said, eyeing Roderick with a contempt he 
took no pains to disguise. " Well, I shall go dead against you. 

Four or five fools on the board — and you are among 'em, 

Jim Dormouse — have got a majority and are going to try 
to run the school with new-fangled notions. Now I know 
something about men, and I say you're no more fit to take 
Professor Cobb's place in that school than you are to cut out 
frock-coats in that there room. Now you know what I think 
of you, and it don't cost you a cent." 

"Indeed?" said Roderick, quietly; "it would cost you a 
good deal more than a cent to find out what I think of you." 

" By , I'd have you know Pve got a vote on that 

board," burst out Mr. Blarston in a voice that could be heard 
a block away. 

" Oh J yes, I know you are the ninth part of the board," 
returned Roderick, with most provoking calmness ; " but I 
don't believe you are the ninth part of a man, if you are a 
tailor. Allow me to bid you good morning," and with a low 
bow he walked out of the store, leaving Mr. Blarston speech- 
less. 

"I thought you called yourself a coward," said Mr. Dor- 
mouse, as they passed down the street ; " you didn't seem 
much scared by John Blarston's insults." 

" Scared by his insults ! " repeated Roderick ; " why, such a 
man as that cannot insult me. A man so gratuitously rude 
merely proclaims that he knows no better. I confess I am 
ashamed of that fling at his occupation. By indulging in it 
I lowered myself to his level ; but the weapon came to my 
hand and I flourished it before 1 thought." Roderick had 
already adopted Mr. Dormouse's metaphor. 

" I wondered how you came to say that," said Mr. Dor- 



THE NORWAY FREE UIGH SCHOOL 481 

mouse. " If you had known John Blarston from a boy, you 
couldn't have done better. He admires pluck and wit above 
everything, and you have won him over to your side." 

^' Won him over to my side ? " repeated Roderick, now 
thoroughly astonished. 

" Yes, sir ; take my word for it, the vote will be six to three, 
instead of five to four, as we expected." 

" Who will be the three? " 

"Domite, Angell, and Abrahams." 

V. Roderick Gets Acquainted 

When Roderick reached New York, the next morning, he 
received a telegram from Mr. Dormouse announcing his elec- 
tion. As the term was to begin January 2, Roderick went to 
Middletown to spend Christmas, and started for Norway the 
next day. When he called on Mr. Dormouse for the keys of 
the school building, he surprised that worthy gentleman, who 
had not expected him till the opening of the term. Roderick 
explained that when the term began the scholars and teachers 
would be new to him, and he wanted at least to be familiar 
with the building, the text-books, and the course of study; 
moreover, there might be little repairs needed before the school 
assembled. 

Mr. Dormouse was pleased at this evidence of enterprise, 
and offered to accompany Roderick at once. They stopped 
at a house near the building, and called for the janitor, old 
Sam Sullivan. 

Sam was a character in his way. He was a small man, with 
hair so pale that it seemed to have been bleached out, and a 
beard of the same shade always sprouting through his face. 
He was round-shouldered, and leaned so far forward when 
he walked that each step seemed to arrest the tumble by 
which he was falling from the last. He had been janitor of 
the building ever since its erection, and considered himself 
the real engineer of the school. Teachers might come and 

SCH. IN COM. — 31 



482 CHARLES WILLIAM BABDEEN 

teachers might go, but he went on forever. ^ The furnaces he 
spoke of as tenderly as though they were children. A wind 
rising at night would awake him, as others are wakened by 
the crying of a baby ; and he would jump up, dress, and run 
to adjust the drafts, though it were two o'clock of the iciest 
day in winter. Like most very watchful parents, he was dis- 
appointed in his children. The furnaces were wayward, and 
would not heat the building. On three consecutive days of 
the last winter Sam had stood by the door with an aching 
heart and seen the pupils file out and go home because the 
thermometers would not expand above fifty degrees. Then 
wood stoves had been put into each room, and this disgrace 
to his furnaces Sam felt keenly. 

All this and more the garrulous janitor poured forth, as they 
made their way into the building. But Roderick found dirt 
in unexplored corners, aged cobwebs on the recesses of entry 
windows, and dust everywhere. 

"The first thing will be to have the building thoroughly 
cleaned," he said. 

Sam stood aghast. 

" Why, the floors was washed down to the very cellar on the 
Monday after school closed," he said. 

''Nevertheless," said Roderick, "the building is not clean. 
It might be clean for a granary or a stable, but it is dirty for 
a schoolroom. In the first place," he added, peering into one 
of the desks, "these must be thoroughly brushed out. Look 
at that," and as he withdrew his hand he showed the tips of 
his fingers covered with a bluish dust, almost as thick and 
dense as the wadding of a shoddy overcoat. 

Sam was inclined to grumble, but Roderick was peremptory. 
Here were blackboards that needed new coats of slating, desks 
that must be screwed down tighter, a seat that needed mend- 

1 A parody of the famous line from Tennyson's The Brook : 

" For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever." 



THE NORWAY FBEE HIGH SCHOOL 483 

ing, a window weight that had slipped off the pulley, a blind 
that must be placed so as to swing without scraping the 
window-sill. A fine set of wall-maps and another of physio- 
logical charts were found in the garret. Roderick brought 
them down and drew a plan for standards, which Mr. Dor- 
mouse promised to have made at once. The covers of some 
of the reference books were loose. Roderick ordered them 
taken to the binders. Two cabinet organs were wheezy, and 
upon some tones mute. Roderick drew out the defective reeds, 
and removed the substances which, by slipping in, had inter- 
rupted vibration ; and he showed Sam how to tighten the bel- 
lows. In short, he laid out work enough to keep the janitor 
busy the rest of the week, and went to dinner hungry and 
happy. 

Mr. Dormouse had remained all the forenoon, saying little, 
but observing Roderick with great interest. When he left 
Roderick, he said : 

"You have hit me this morning harder than you did Sam 
Sullivan. The rules of our board refer all these things that 
you have been doing to the Supply Committee, of which I am 
chairman. I thought matters were in pretty fair shape, but I 
see your eyes are sharper. Go ahead and get anything you 
wish done. Just let me know what it is, and I will report to 
the board that I ordered it myself." 

"Why, I beg your pardon," said Roderick. " I did not know 
I was exceeding my authority. I supposed all these duties fell 
naturally upon the principal." 

"Well, no, not regularly, at least in this state," said Mr. 
Dormouse. " No doubt they should, for he spends all his time 
in the schoolroom and ought to know better than any one else 
what needs to be done and how it needs to be done. But the 
regulations of most union schools so divide all responsibility 
among different committees that theoretically the principal does 
little more than run a locomotive of approved pattern upon rails 
already laid. Practically, more or less of the construction of 
the locomotive and the laying out of the track is left to the 



484 CHARLES WILLIAM BAEDEEN 

principal, according to his mental strength and the confidence 
which he can inspire in the board. If you succeed as well as 
I have reason to hope, you can have your own way in nearly 
everything ; but you will save friction by consulting our printed 
regulations, learning the names of the committees, and consult- 
ing them before you take important action in the matters which 
the board puts under their direction. Fortunately, I am chair- 
man of the Supply Committee; and Tom Baker, of the Com- 
mittee on Course of Study. The Committee on Teachers is 
headed by Squire Marvin. You will have to approach him 
with more care. If possible, always talk with him so as to 
get him to be the first to propose what you want done, and 
then allow yourself to be persuaded that he is right. Do 
you see ? " 

Roderick saw, and managed so well during the week that the 
board not only approved of the minor changes he made, but in 
a rare fit of enterprise, supplanted the faulty furnaces by the 
finest steam-heating apparatus in the market. 

Roderick busied himself also with the course of study. He 
had learned by inquiry that the higher teachers were all out of 
town, and as Professor Cobb had moved to Chimborazo, and 
was absorbed in his new enterprise, Roderick could think of no 
other way to learn the inner working of the school than by 
studying the registers. These had been carefully kept and 
were systematically filed away. He spent the entire afternoon 
upon them, till he knew the names of all the teachers, the 
studies of each room, the number of pages in each text-book 
gone over in a term, the frequency of reviews and examina- 
tions, and the results of the latter. Then he took down some 
of the examination papers from the neatly docketed files, and 
compared them with the marks given, and whistled. He car- 
ried home a large package of examination papers and spent 
the evening upon them, and went to bed astonished and dis- 
heartened. He found papers marked from eighty to one hun- 
dred per cent in which there was not a single accurate 
answer, while the errors in grammar were exceeded only 



THE A'ORWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 48o 

by those in spelling. He learned that there had been no 
supervision of examinations, each teacher having held her 
own upon questions given by herself. Thus, of Miss Lowe's 
papers, which were the only respectable ones in the list, few 
were marked above seventy-five per cent, while Mrs. Stone's, 
which were in every way disgraceful, were all marked above 
ninety. 

By Saturday night Roderick was tired, but he had a fair 
knowledge of the work done in each department of the school, 
and a definite plan laid out for the coming term. He spent 
a pleasant Sunday at Tom Baker's, and awoke on Monday 
morning thoroughly ready for work. 



VI. EoDERicK Fails in Discipline 

As Roderick approached the school building on Monday 
morning, he had to pass through a crowd of boys eager to catch 
a glimpse of the new principal. To eyes accustomed to 
the burly form of Professor Cobb, Roderick's compact figure 
seemed Liliputian. Two or three of the larger boys offered 
confidently to bet they could lick him; and the venturesome 
spirits vied in demonstrations of impudence. One of them 
smoked a cigar under the very eaves of the building. Another 
pushed his companion directly in Roderick's pathway. A third 
planted himself in a tragic attitude, and declared: 

" These are Clan Alpine's warriors true, 
And, stranger, I am Roderick Hume." 

The boys were rather puzzled to find that Roderick neither 
interfered with nor ignored them. He looked straight at them, 
not smiling, nor frowning, but simply observing. They felt, 
somehow, that they were being weighed in the balance by 
one who would not hesitate at his own time to proclaim in 
what he found them wanting. 

Miss Bell met him at the door, took his hand tenderly, 
accompanied him upstairs, and with an air of proprietorship 



486 CHARLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

introduced him to tlie other teachers, all of whom were g-athered 
about the principal's desk. 

Roderick had made himself so familiar with their reports 
that he had no difficulty in rapidly assigning to each the work 
of the day. In general, he desired them to start their classes 
just where they had stopped the term before, and to continue 
as though no change of principals had occurred. 

" What new text-books are you going to introduce ? " asked 
Miss Laurie Simpkins. 

" I shall introduce no new text-books till I have introduced 
myself," replied Roderick ; " I propose to become thoroughly 
familiar with the work you have been doing before I suggest 
any changes, and we need waste no time in getting started. 
Assign the lessons at once, please, and begin the recitations at 
the second period. Classify the new pupils as well as you can, 
and give them all something to do." 

Nine o'clock was at hand, and Roderick directed Sam to ring 
the bell. The boys came upstairs in all the noisy ways that 
the water comes down at Lodore,^ and shuffled to their seats like 
delegates to a Democratic caucus. Roderick waited till every 
scholar was seated, every pair of lips still, and every pair of 
boots motionless. When oppressive silence at length pre- 
vailed, Roderick rose quietly, looked over the room in a 
glance that took in every face, and said in a low but distinct 
tone ; 

" From what I have seen and heard this morning, I infer that 
you and I look differently upon the relation in which I stand 
to you. I heard one boy say that I didn't weigh enough to run 
this school " (here a smile swept over the room, but Roderick's 
face was imperturbable) ; " I heard another boy recklessly offer 
to bet ten cents he could lick me " (the smile was now a snigger, 
but the boy in question looked scared) ; ''a majority of you seem 
disposed to limit your improper conduct only by the probability 



1 A cascade of England on a small affluent of the Derwent — Water Lake, 
near Keswick, Cumberland County. 



THE NOEWAY FREE HIGH SCHOOL 487 

of detection and punisliment. In other words, you look upon 
me as a policeman, whose business it is to be on the lookout for 
mischief, and to detect and punish you if I can. 

" Now, I am not sure there might not be some fun in this. 
It would be a sort of game. I like games, and always beat 
when I can. If I were to play this game with you, there might 
be a good deal of beating — some of it with a hickory ruler." 
(The smiling was now rather apprehensive, and in some 
instances defiant.) ''I can imagine how the game would be 
played. I start for school in the morning, and approach a half 
a dozen boys. As soon as I see theni, I take it for granted 
they are concocting some villainy, and hasten to surprise them. 
One of them gets a glimpse of me, and aspirates quickly : 
' Cheese it ! old Hume's coming,' and they all scatter like the 
wind." (Unrestrained laughter now. Evidently this new 
principal had been there, the students thought.) 

" I enter the building and come up the stairs, peering into 
every corner, and perhaps looking through the keyhole before 
I enter a room, to spy out any mischief afloat. When the bell 
rings, I station a teacher at every turn of the stairs to mark for 
punishment the fellows who come up like rowdies." (A rather 
disconcerted look is exchanged among the boys.) "I strike the 
bell three or four times to get you into t)rder, and perhaps have 
to repeat the Lord's Prayer with my eyes open to see what boy 
is sticking a pin into the one in front of him." (The smiling 
was now mostly lost in amazement ; what kind of a man was this 
who knew all these things and talked right out about them?) 

" I begin the recitations of the day, and call up my first class. 
I take it for granted they have not prepared their lessons, and 
so ask them all around, in order to get them to lie about it and 
then punish them for that. I spend half my time in watching 
to see who is peeping into his book, and the other half in put- 
ting down the names of those who are whispering in the back 
part of the room. Consequently my class gets very little in- 
struction. Finally, I tell all of them to stay after school and 
recite over again, and then give them twice as much for next day. 



488 CHARLES WILLIAM BABBEEN 

" And so we go on, you spending all your time in trying to 
shirk study and play tricks on me, and I spending all my time 
in* trying to find you out and punish you for it. I come here 
day after day, as to a treadmill, where I must wear through six 
hours without getting put out of the building; and you come 
here because your parents make you. At the end of the term 
you have learned nothing, and have as the result of fourteen 
weeks' attendance nothing to boast of, except that you whispered 
eighty-one times and pulled a chair out from under Jimmy 
Smith without being caught; while I have nothing to point to 
except a record of three hundred recesses taken away,^ seventy 
hours kept after school, six hundred and nineteen ferulings, and 
about three regular knock-down fights. 

" How do you like the programme, scholars ? " (Emphatic 
shakings of the head, and considerable manifest respect for 
so bold a painter of a truthful picture.) "And yet you see it 
is precisely the programme you yourselves lay down for me to 
follow. I come here a stranger, and, I trust, a gentleman. 
Instead of greeting me pleasantly, as you would a stranger and 
a gentleman who visited your father's house, you gather about 
my path, stare insolently, make insulting remarks, stamp up- 
stairs like rowdies, and shuffle to your seats with impudent 
bravado. Now, why do you do this ? You are not rowdies. 
Some of you who behaved worst this morning are boys evidently 
well brought up at home and accustomed to polite intercourse. 
If you had met me at your own home or at your father's office, 
you would have bowed politely and offered to assist me in any 
way you could. You behaved as you did this morning simply 
because you were following the old tradition that prevails in 
many schools, that the teacher is a policeman, to be taken 
advantage of whenever possible. 

" Now, I do not come here as a policeman. In the first place, 

1 This taking away of three hundred recesses during a seventy days' atten- 
dance is on the principle of the cumulative sentence in law, whereby several 
terms of imprisonment are added together for a punishment of different offenses, 
and a man may be sentenced for more than a lifetime. 



THE NOR}VAY FBEE UIGU SCHOOL 489 

I have no time for it. Here you are, young men and young 
women, some of you getting, in the next few weeks, or months, 
or years at most, all the school instruction you will ever have. 
Think how much there is to do in this next term, and you will 
see that no time is left for you to concoct mischief or for me to 
ferret it out. I have come here expecting to work hard with 
you. I want you all to work hard with me — not for me, not 
"luider me, but with me. I ask no one here to study harder 
than I do. I ask no one to take more interest in his lessons 
than I shall take in them. I want you all to look upon me as 
put here to help you in your effort to make the most of your- 
selves. This is not my school, but our school. You do not 
come here to obey or to disobey, but to study. Whatever rules 
we may find necessary for ourselves will come, not from my 
notions of discipline, but from our necessities as students. 
And to all such rules you are to consider me just as subject 
as yourselves. If it is your duty to come here promptly at 
nine, it is my duty to dismiss you promptly at twelve, and I 
shall do it. I want you boys to count me in when it comes 
to hop-skip-and-jump ^ and baseball. I don't know but I may 
venture upon a game of marbles next spring, when the snow 
goes off. 

" But I have said enough, I think, to assure you that I come 
here as your friend and coworker ; and if I read your faces 
aright, I shall have your hearty cooperation." 

Roderick then conducted the usual morning exercises, and 
plunged into the business of the day. There was no scuffling 
on the stairs when the boys went down at recess, or when they 
came back. Indeed, during the entire term no scholar addressed 
Roderick disrespectfully or hesitated to obey him. 

" You see," said one of the big boys who were discussing 
Roderick's speech about the stove in Jim Dormouse's shop, 
"you see he spoke just as if he meant every Avord he said." 



1 A favorite game played by taking in succession a leap with one foot, a skip, 
and a jump with both feet. 



490 CHABLES WILLIAM BARBEEN 

The boy hit pretty near the secret. He would have hit 
closer if he had attributed Roderick's control of the school to 
the fact that he did mean every word he said. 

Of course the discipline of the school was not perfect. There 
are disorderly elements in every school this side of Heaven, 
except perhaps in Boston. But the moral sentiment of the 
school preponderated heavily in favor of quiet, honest work. 
Some three or four large girls found the atmosphere uncon- 
genial and withdrew from school. Several small nervous boys 
were active specks upon the sun, meaning well enough, but 
fidgety by nature. Then there were a few of the unfortunates 
who are born tired, and never recover from it, and others whose 
heads were marble to receive and wax to retain. But deter- 
mined, persistent disobedience was unknown, unthought of. 
In the schoolroom, on the playground, on the ice, at evening 
gatherings, wherever his scholars were, Roderick was in active 
demand. Best of all, their liking was built upon a hearty and 
growing respect. 



IX 

THOMPSON 
ECKSTEIN 



D'ARCY WENTWORTH THOMPSON 

Many of the elderly teachers of Latin in the United States will recall the 
visit to this country (in 1867) of the distinguished Professor of Greek in 
Queen's College, Galway, Ireland, and his addresses at the Lowell Institute, 
in Boston. The incident was remarkable chiefly for its influence upon the 
teaching of Latin in the United States. 

D'Arcy Went worth Thompson was among the most famous of the Old- 
World schoolmasters before his appointment to the Professor's chair in the 
College, in 1864. For more than a dozen years he was Classical Master in 
the Edinburgh Academy, and prepared large classes of boys for admission 
to the universities. Characteristically Scotch in his thoroughness as a 
teacher, he was in other respects the very antipode of the traditional Scotch 
schoolmaster. He had succeeded in escaping from the deep ruts into which 
the schoolmasters of his time had fallen. He was one of the most original, 
independent, broad-minded teachers in the world, and one of the most 
thoroughly cultured. His ideas were generally those of the ISTew Education. 

Professor Thompson is a native of the Border, where the English and 
Scotch meet and coalesce like confluent streams. In his college days he was 
a Cantab — that is, a student of the University of Cambridge. While at 
Edinburgh — "Dunedin," as he affectionately calls the place in his writings 
— he hastily wrote, as a holiday recreation, his Day Dreams of a School- 
master. The book proved a delight to educators and students, especially to 
those who were versed in the classics. It has been republished in the 
United States. 

Professor Thompson's lectures on education at the Lowell Institute have 
been published since, under the title Wayside Thoughts. Among the author's 
other works are Ancient Leaves; Scalce Novce, or A Ladder to Latin; and 
Sales Attici, or the Wit and Wisdom of the Athenian Drama. Tt is no dis- 
paragement to Professor Thompson's distinguished labors at Queen's Col- 
lege (where he still holds the chair of Greek) to say that he will probably 
be remembered more as the Scotch schoolmaster than as the Irish professor. 
In the preparatory school, the greatest opportunity was offered to him for 
illustrating and impressing his own advanced views of the matter and method 
of education ; and this opportunity was fully improved. 

493 



494 D'AECY WENTWOBTH THOMPSON 

Thompson's influence as an educator is felt not only in the United States 
and in Canada, but also in Australia and Xew Zealand and, in fact, through- 
out the British Empire. 

" He knows the nature of boys," says an English Journal of Education^ 
"and is in full sympathy with them. He also knows Latin thoroughly, 
thinks in it, and writes it with great elegance. He has also thought with 
original power on the philosophy of language, is always in search of explana- 
tions, and is eager to bring everything out of the realms of unreason. . . . 
At the same time, great moderation is shown by him in hazarding explana- 
tions or dismissing irrational rules." 



SCHOOL DEEAMS AT DUNEDIN 

(From Day Dreams of a Schoolmaster) 
I. Nursery Eeform 

I am very fond of dogs. They are religious beasties, but 
idolators, for they worship us. The old Egyptians worshiped 
them. The dogs have the better of it in the comparison. On 
week days a dog may suggest morality and religious faith, 
but he has a painfully profane look on Sunday. Poor, heathen 
brute ! He should • run into hiding places on Saturday at 
midnight, as a ghost vanishes at cock crowing. 

I am equally fond of cats. But they are utterly devoid of 
religion — sleek epicures, that live only in the present. They 
may coil cosily into roly-poly cushions, wash daintily behind 
their ears, and drone their drowsy little humdrum fireside 
hymns ; but with the best of them there is a faint, lingering 
odor of Beel'zebub. 

I should not wonder if, on the other side of Styx, some 
faithful friend were to welcome me with the wagging of a 
shadowy tail, and the utterance of a thin and ineffectual bow- 
wow. But the boat of Cha'ron will push a difficult furrow 
through innumerable bodies, brickbat-laden, of purrless, soul- 
less, dead-as-door-nail cats. Poor pussies ! 

But though I love these hairy favorites much, I love little 



SCHOOL BREAMS AT DUNEDIN 495 

children more. And I care not whether they be blonde or 
brown, clean or dirty, Lordlings or chimney sweepkins. Not a 
button! I would rather they were not too good, or "goody." 
Let us have a little naughtiness, sprinkled in at intervals ; it 
gives a flavor to the insipidity of vegetable innocence. 

A pharisee is not a pleasant object, be he clad in swallow- 
tails or cotton frock. And there is a social pharisee, as well 
as a religious one. Clean face and glossy curls must never 
frown upon little smutty, streetling publican. No, no ; it is 
quite possible that this little sparrow boy but rarely washes 
his face, more rarely says his prayers, and never blows his 
nose ; which practices are common with genteel canary children. 
But not a sparrow falleth to the ground without our Father's 
notice. Let us all have a share of natural commonness, of 
wholesome naughtiness, of clean dirt. Let us stand occa- 
sionally in the corner of repentance, " outside of all joy, like 
Neptune in the cold." Then will we promise to be good; we 
will throw tiny arms half round Papa's neck, will kiss him half 
way through his yellow beard; we'll be happy forever and 
ever and ever, and live on taffy and almond rock. O, the bliss 
of making up ! The rain after drought ! The sunshine after 
rain ! Yea, 'tis a sweet thing and a pleasant to have been a 
little naughty. 

Eliminate misdoing from the world, and you annihilate 
charity. The air is uninhabitable from a surplus of oxygen. 
The good deed shines no longer, that glistened like a glowworm 
in a naughty world. Imagine, reader, the humiliating condi- 
tion of a good parson who has overdone his duty. The vestry- 
men are better than he ; the clerk is better than the vestrymen ; 
the pew opener is suspected of being better than them all. 
Why, the church is top-heavy. Another effort, and it will 
stand upon its spire. Come back to the old ways, my friend. 
There must be degrees — there must be degrees. 

But while I can regard with complacency a little naughtiness 
in children, I am grieved to the heart to see their eyes dimmed 
ever so little, and their cheeks ever so slightly pale. O me, for 



496 D'ABCY WENT WORTH THOMPSON 

the faces that one sees at times, so wee and wan and old ; for 
the little tiny Elders, who begin life at the wrong end ! 

I regret, also, that children are under the absurd necessity of 
growing bigger ; of developing from baby buds into boy tulips 
and men cabbages. They keep pet spaniels permanently small, 
but by means that imperil their little lives. I wonder if an 
elixir could be suggested that would keep a child always a child. 
Nay ! I know there is such an elixir ; and I know also from 
what fountain it may be drawn, and has been drawn. It is 
bitter if you sip of it, but sweet, they say, if you take a full 
quaff. But he that drinks thereof cares not afterwards for 
earthly meat or drink, but passes away and leaves us, with 
a look of strange joy upon his countenance. And we follow 
him a little way sorrowing. And I think he must wonder at 
our sorrow, and from under his green counterpane must hear, 
as from the depths of a sweet dream, our cry of Vale ! Vale ! 
In ceternum vale ! ^ 

Did you ever sit, reader, with your babe upon your knee, 
and its dear, good grandmother before you ? Stretch out both 
hands, and you will touch very nearly at the zero and the 
infinity of life; the mystery of the forgotten past, and the 
mystery of an unknown future. 

But to return to our dogs. I am glad that our homeless 
ones have found, of late, a genial and kindly advocate. But I 
could find it in my heart to deprive them of their patron, for 
to me they seem to be appropriating the children's bread; and 
I would employ his humor and his pathos to plead the more 
melancholy cause of our own poor, grammarless little ones. I 
would use all my eloquence to depict the miserable condition 
of these sweet victims of parental indifference. I would point 
to them as they stood, blue and shivering, without a rag of 
syntax round their little loins, and show them dwining away 
before our eyes beneath the pitiless influences of grammatical 
destitution. 

1 Farewell, farewell forever. 



SCHOOL DREAMS AT DUNELIN 497 

And moved by the eloquence of my pleading, and impressed 
with a conviction of its truth, some aged hosier in his latter 
days, ignoring the paltry claims of kindred, would leave a colos- 
sal fortune for the realization of my philanthropic schemes. 
And I should found a magnificent institution in the neighbor- 
hood of our Dunedin, and should call it the Caiete'iim,^ or 
the Normal Institution for the Training of Nursery Maidens. 
And the building should be a palatial one, with green lawns 
and shrubberies and massive gateways ; and there should be 
lodges at the gates, wherein should dwell porters, whose busi- 
ness it were at distant intervals to open and to shut those gates. 
And I would appoint a Board of twenty Guardians, who should 
on stated occasions dine sumptuously out of its funds for the 
benefit of the Caieteiim. And I would select a governor of 
grave and dignified demeanor, and a numerous staff of masters 
well skilled in the turning of the gerund stone. ^ And from the 
Board of Guardians should be selected a subcommittee of three 
members, who should be named the Special Aggravators, and 
their business it should be to worry the governor of grave 
demeanor, and to set the governor a-worrying the turners of 
the gerund stone. And the palace and the Board and the staff 
should be for the housing and the superintending and the 
instructing of ten little nursery maidens, who should be chosen 
exclusively from such families of the name of Thompson as 
should spell it with a p. And for a term of years these little 
maidens should apply their noses to the outer edge of the 
rapidly turning gerund stone. And when their brains were 
cleared of the weeds of nature and mother wit and unassisted 
sense, I should send them forth as missionaries into the outer 
world, for the reformation of our nurseries. 

And wherever these little missionaries .came, they would 
sweep away, as with a besom, all idle games and silly puzzles 
and unedifying tales. And Jack would flee in terror to the 

1 A place for sacrifices. 

2 "Turning the ger'und stone," is a cant expression, descriptive of machine 
work in language study. 

6CH. IN COM. — o2 



498 D'ARCY WENTWORTR THOMPSON 

summit of his own beanstalk ; Cock Robin would be borne 
unpitied to his grave ; and Mother Hubbard, led by her own 
dog, would beg her bread, an exile in far distant lands. And 
our children should be instructed upon those scientific and 
theoretic principles which, in other and higher departments of 
education, have stood the test of ages. And these missionary 
maidens should be furnished, each with her gerund stone ; and 
resolute parents should apply the noses of their prattlers to the 
outer edge thereof, as it turned rapidly. But, forasmuch as the 
process might for a while prove disagreeable to the instructed, 
the maidens should be further equipped with an implement of 
hardened leather,^ highly charged with a subtle electricity, whose 
dexterous application to the palm should have the property of 
endearing to the little ones these maidens and their gerund 
stones. 

Follow me, gentle reader, into a model nursery, and behold 
our system in full operation. Those little children yonder, 
blue-eyed and flaxen-haired, fresh from the Eden where inno- 
cents still wander, are standing for the first time before the 
mysterious engine of their mental training. From dawn to 
eve, this summer's day, they are committing to memory all 
words that end in ock, as cock, knock, block, rock, stock, smock, 
flock, beginning with a cock that must not crow — for the fowl 
is as yet unprovided with verb and conjugation and voice (most 
essential this for crowing) and mood and tense and number 
and person, — and ending with a flock that must neither frolic 
nor bleat. To-morrow they will give undivided attention 
to words that end in dom, as kingdom, beadledom ; the day 
following, to words in ition, as deglutition, perdition; then to 
words in ation, as trituration, botheration; and so on for a month 
or two, till the category of ordinary words is exhausted. Then 
are they to be put to wholesome tribulation upon words that 
lack a singular, as tongs, scissors, spectacles, stockings, trousers, 



1 The tawse, a leather strap, used as an instrument of punishment in Scot- 
tish schools. 



SCHOOL DREAMS AT DUNEDIN 499 

breeches; then on nouns that lack a plural, as butter^ beef^ mutton^ 
glue^ alicompayne ; ^ then on nouns that lack a possessive case, 
as gruel^ wash-haiid-stand^ microcosm ; then on nouns that lack 
a vocative, as ninepins^ oatmeal, cosmogony, philoprogenitiveness. 
And if, meanwhile, they yawn over the work, or ask idle ques- 
tions of curiosity, they will be subjected to the influence of the 
electric leather. 

When sufficiently bewildered, it may be irritated, with months 
of substantives, they shall pass through similar ordeals of un- 
diluted adjectives, participles, verbs, adverbs, numerals, prepo- 
sitions, and conjunctions. Then shall they be put through a 
course of syntax, which shall daily be administered to them 
in infinitesimal doses, according to the received principles of 
grammatical homeopathy. 

Then shall be put into their tiny hands the interesting and 
exhausting biographies of the great Busbe'quius Bung'fungus, 
and by homeopathic treatment each biography shall be made 
to occupy many weeks ; so that the children, in reading the 
death of Palseol'ogus and Mithrobarza'nes, and other favorite 
heroes, may have forgotten all the circumstances of their lives. 
And if they read a fable, they shall read it in minute portions, 
so that, on arriving at the tail or moral, they may be unable to 
apply it to the body. And in their daily readings they shall 
continually sing their verbal and syntactic f ormuloe, which shall 
sound like mystic hymns in the ears of their delighted parents. 

It is true that the children, by this method, will be power- 
less to express their passing thoughts, or to describe occur- 
rences that take place before their eyes ; but they will be 
imbued with theories of speech, too sacred to be employed in 
the profanities of idle talk ; and for this their parents will feel 
duly grateful to the leather of electricity and the rapidly 
turning gerund stone. 

But ah, reader, all human devices are marred with imper- 



1 El-e-cam-pane' in the United States, — an herb formerly used as a stomachic. 
The name is a favorite "catch word" with some teachers and school examiners. 



500 D'ARCY WENTWORTH THOMPSON 

fection. My own system, perfect as it may seem, is lopsided, 
as it affects but the mental part of our nature. It is true, the 
lilies of the field toil not as they grow. The lambkin on the 
hillside thrives pleasurably into sheephood; I wish I could 
add, passes painlessly into mutton. The beaver learns his 
pontifical trade, unstimulated by flaps of the parental tail. 
To the brain of man is decreed the proud prerogative of 
uncomfortable growth. No; not decreed. In this matter, 
I imagine, the sagacity of man has improved upon the wis- 
dom of Omniscience. 

The mental training of my own boyhood was a continuous 
sensation of obstruction and pain. By the aid of catechisms, 
Crossmans, and burdensome observances, I was grooved labori- 
ously into a secure and permanent orthodoxy. My mental and 
spiritual parts were furrowed ; but alas, my physical part re- 
mained fallow ! My growth in stature was left carelessly to 
my Maker, and proceeded without a hint of artificial tribula- 
tion. This flaw in our educational system it is my ambition 
to remove. I have invented a mechanical adjustment of power- 
ful magnetic needles, whose permanent application to the frame 
will render child, boy, or youth continuously sensible of phys- 
ical growth. The feeling will be as though five minutes of 
acute toothache were diffused over a space of months. A 
youth will literally develop into manhood through pins and 
needles. We shall then have realized the perfect organism of 
the Roman poet's fancy, the — 

Mens TORTA in corpore torto.^ 

11. The Crew of Ulysses 

Yes, reader, I am Hellenist. I am at the end of my 
third volume, and am going to live happy ever afterwards. 
I have reached Ithaca. A little tired and battered. But I 

1 A warped mind in a warped body — changed from " 3Iens sana in corpore 
sano " (the Roman poet's real words, meaning a sound mind in a sound body). 



SCHOOL BREAMS AT DUNEBtN 501 

have reached Ithaca. I will now take mine ease by my own 
hearth, and spin long yarns about Scyl'la and Charyb'dis. But 
where are my old comrades ? Poor fellows ! They are all 
drowned. They are lying at the bottom of that JEge'an, which 
in life was the scene of all their suffering, and the reservoir of 
all their geography. 

The fact is, it was only in exceptional cases that boys 
with us remained at school after the age of fifteen. Conse- 
quently, my old friends were all away. They had gone for the 
most part into commercial life. Fortunately, one half of their 
schooling had been devoted to the despised branches of penman- 
ship, ciphering, reading, and writing from dictation. These 
subjects had been very well taught. Indeed, had they been 
taught ever so indifferently, the pupils could scarcely have 
failed to pick up something in such elementary branches dur- 
ing a curriculum of at least seven years. Consequently, in 
the various countinghouses into which they were drafted, our 
boys were usually found good penmen, ready reckoners, and 
tolerably correct in their spelling. But of one entire half of 
their long school probation, the majority carried away no 
intellectual memento. Upon that half had been brought to 
bear the most expensive part of the educational machinery; 
masters of arts, instead of ushers ; clergymen, instead of lay- 
men ; dictionaries and lexicons, instead of copy books and slates. 
There had been no lack of sowing, but there had been no 
reaping, no gathering into barns, although Heaven knows the 
ground had been well harrowed and the seed had been watered 
plentifully, and with tears. 

I must state, in passing, that there was a naval school into 
which boys might enter, at their own option, about the age of 
twelve. ^lany that had no special calling for a sailor's life 
entered it with the mere view of escaping a life of Latin and 
Greek drudgery on dry land. This part of the school had 
been added to the original foundation by Charles II. Every 
year a little deputation presents at Court its charts and draw- 
ings, in accordance with the expressed wish of the royal 



502 D'ARCY WENTWORTH THOMPSON 

founder. I believe in no portion of the kingdom is a course 
of naval instruction given so perfect in both practice and 
theory. 

My contemporaries of the ordinary under form ^ who survive 
will be now in the prime of manhood. Do they ever look 
calmly back upon the miraculous fog that overhung one half 
of their seven years' schooling ? Have they ever expiscated ^ 
one intelligible reason why they were so long detained in the 
barren wilderness ? What good have they ever reaped them- 
selves from the trial, or what gratification can it have afforded 
to others ? Or seems that period to them an embryo state, a 
dream within a dream ? Some of them will now be Benedicks ; ^ 
some will have boys growing into their teens. Our species, 
like the sheep, is prone to follow a lead. I would venture to 
affirm that these fathers will, in most instances, be putting their 
boys through some similarly mysterious educational process. 

The fact is, men usually look back upon their school days 
as a pedestrian upon traversed, far-off, blue hills. S^e for- 
gets the long, desolate moorlands, the tortuous pathways, the 
morasses here and the shingles there, the peak on peak that 
never was the highest. Thei/ forgive, over the walnuts and 
the wine, the pedagogue that thrashed them to no moral or 
mental profit, the bully that appropriated their weekly six- 
pence, the old housekeeper that worried them with nig-nagging 
for their torn linen, or for faces dirtier than their dirty shoes. 
School was not such a bad place, after all. Another glass or 
two of the old, tawny particular ; and, faith ! we were never 
so happy as in our boyhood, and may never be as happy again. 
Besides, boys are terribly in the way at home, and school is the 
real place for them, after all ; and — depend upon it — if there 
were no virtue in birching, caning, Latin verses and Greek 
what-ye-may-call-'ems, they would not have held their ground 
so long amongst a practical people like ourselves. So Johnny is 
sent to the town grammar school, and returns in due time with 

1 Lower class, in school. ^ Wished out. ^ j^ewly married men. 



SCHOOL DREAMS AT DUNEDIN 603 

as much honey of Hymettus ^ on his legs as his father before 
him. And meanwhile, the great, time-honored gerund stone 
turns, and will turn to the last syllable of recorded time. 

In the majority of great English public schools, the primary 
subjects of writing, ciphering, reading, and spelling, are noto- 
riously ill taught. The chief modern languages, French and 
German, languish in the cold shade of their classic rivals. 
And yet, elementarily, they are taught on a more rational plan 
than the classics. That is to say, the rules of nature or com- 
mon sense are not wholly ignored ; and the conversational, 
vivd voce principle is to some extent kept in view. But success 
in these departments carries with it no acknowledged prestige, 
paves the way to no brilliant university distinction. Too fre- 
quently, also, a master of French is a master of French only, 
with no more claims to learning than a chef de cuisine ; ^ 
and too often a master of German will mar the effect of his 
erudition by a philosophic but frowsy disregard of toilet pro- 
prieties. And alas, a foreigner, however learned and well- 
mannered, too often fails in the maintenance of discipline, from 
the fact that the idea of order is, to his pupils, inseparably con- 
nected with a vigorous use of implements which are barbarous 
in his eyes and ridiculous in his hands. 

However, be the condition of other branches what you please, 
the melancholy fact stands, that the classics are taught in such 
a way as to benefit only those who, by superior talents or 
inordinately long continuance at school, eventually emerge 
from the darkness overhanging their elementary training. I 
could enumerate three historical and well-endowed metropoli- 
tan schools to which, in my day, even this latter exceptional 
statement was not due. 

In the Under School at St. Edward's, we certainly under- 
stood the husbandry of making a very little Greek go a very 
long way. We sank our teaching plummet many fathoms deep 

^ A mountain in Greece, celebrated in antiquity for its wild honey. 
2 Head cook. 



504 D'ABCr WENT WORTH THOMPSON 

into the abyss of unintelligibility. But the historical trio had 
tumbled through the antipodes to the nadir, where they were 
sticking like rayless stars. There were honey prizes, in the 
way of exhibitions and scholarships, attached to these drone- 
hives ; they must have been assigned to such drones as were 
found preeminent in weight or size or capacity of repose. 

At the best of the great Public Schools, the youngest chil- 
dren — bless the innocents! — are suckled upon grammar; the 
more advanced are too often fed upon dull books, made duller 
by superfluous annotations; the manuals for prose composition 
are in many cases tramways to pedantry, exhibiting for imita- 
tion the unintentional faults of Thucyd'ides and the intentional 
faults of Tac'itus; the manuals for Latin versification would 
seem to have been originally intended to implant in boys a 
quick perception of the ludicrous. A vile system of literal 
translation of Greek and Latin idioms so corrupts the well of 
English undefiled that a boy often loses as much English in 
his Latin room as he will pick up for the day in his English 
room. No one, after once the sentences have been analyzed, 
would ever dream of translating literally Comment vous portez 
V0U8? or Qu'est-ce que cest que ga? but pedantry will insist 
upon boys rendering, year after year, Greek particles by the 
most un-English equivalents, and Latin redundancies by Eng- 
lish wind. The whole system, and the elementary part most 
of all, is bookish, unpractical. It is many years — nay, very 
often it does not happen at all, — it is many years, at all events, 
before a lad suspects that Latin and Greek are instruments of 
thought precisely similar to his own everyday language. In 
the earlier years of his apprenticehood, he would almost scout 
the idea as profane, that men could under any circumstances 
exchange chitchat, write love letters, deliver after-dinner 
speeches, tell Joe Millers,^ make bad puns in such solemn 
and stiff-] ointed forms of speech. Indeed^ they never strike him 



1 Stale jests — so called from Joseph Miller, an English comic actor, whose 
name is given to a jest book. 



SCHOOL DREAMS AT BUNEBIN 505 

as forms of speech at all. He may entertain a hazy idea that 
Latin was employed by a Roman tradesman for composing an 
elegiac valentine, or an advertisement in Alcaics. 

Its grammatical nomenclature is worded differently from 
that of any modern tongue ; and that for Greek is worded 
more cabalistically still. He meets with no a'orists in Eng- 
lish ; no su'pines in French ; no ger'unds in German ; no paulo- 
post-futures anywhere in the habitable world. And yet I will 
venture to say that there are very few idioms of either Greek 
or Latin that have not their analogues in homely Saxon and 
pure French. Indeed, I am almost inclined to think that the 
use of av in Greek is the only idiom to which it would be diffi- 
cult or impossible to adduce a parallel. Why on earth, then, 
are the former pair SAvatlied in a verbiage so peculiar ? 

I can understand the use of a peculiar nomenclature in days 
when the theory of language was imperfectly understood ; and 
I freely acknowledge the debt of gratitude due to the old gram- 
marians for raising the structure before us, with the scanty 
materials at their disposal. Latin was then considered as radi- 
cally different from Greek as Greek from Coptic. Ay, and 
might be considered so now, for all the teaching in our schools. 
The magnificent, cloud-dispelling discoveries of Bopp and the 
Grimms, so full of interest if gradually and clearly expounded, 
to young and old alike, are, in most class rooms, practically 
ignored. 

We still separate by arbitrary boundaries studies that we 
know, or should knoAV, to be cognate. If Latin, Greek, and 
Teutonic are really sisters, and French a daughter of one of 
them, why should it be thought impossible to teach them all 
upon some catholic plan ? At the very least, the grammati- 
cal terms employed in one schoolroom might be employed in 
another. Take, for instance, such a simple sentence as, / should 
like to knoiv. If a boy were called upon to parse such a sen- 
tence in three consecutive class rooms, he would find a Condi- 
tional mood in the French room, a Subjunctive one in the 
Latin, and an Optative one in the Greek. A very Proteus 



506 D'ARCT WENTWORTH THOMPSON 

of a mood — now a bear, now crackling fire, now running 
water, that slips through one's fingers. 

I am convinced in my own mind that it were practicable to 
teach English, French, German, Latin, and Greek on a broad 
and catholic system. The first step would be for the patrons 
of our great schools to require of every candidate for a classical 
mastership satisfactory proofs of a thorough knowledge of 
French or German, or even of both languages, in grammar 
and accent. If a good classical scholar were found deficient in 
the latter particular, he might be advised to travel abroad, to 
cure his ear and his tongue of their insular vulgarity. 

In a few years, a scholar would as soon think of speaking 
French with a bad accent as of eating peas with a knife. A 
class might pass from language to language, retaining its shape 
and the position of its members^ upon the principle that it was 
merely passing from one to another phase of one great and com- 
prehensive subject. Thus the places in a class of English, French, 
or German would be thrown in with those of Latin and Greek at 
the end of a session, to determine the prizes for proficiency in 
the broad and catholic study of the dialects of one common lan- 
guage. The classics would benefit by the amalgamation, as they 
would have to be treated less mysteriously, and illustrated 
more interestingly ; and to modern languages would be given 
a prestige, in the eyes of the pupils, which they have hitherto 
most unquestionably and most undeservedly lacked. 

To some the amalgamation proposed may seem one of incon- 
gruities. It is not so. It is much more incongruous to mix 
the study of modern history with the study of Latin and 
Greek than to associate the study of one language with that 
of another cognate language, in the determination of class 
places. A boy may have a special turn for history and the 
acquisition of general information, who is comparatively slow 
at linguistic studies. But a good scholar in Latin and Greek 
will be a good scholar in French and German — if he choose. 
I have known lamentable instances of good classical scholars 
neglecting purposely, and for sordid reasons connected with 



SCHOOL DREAMS AT DUNELIN 507 

school prizes, the study of modern languages ; but T could also 
point to separate class lists Avhere the same names, almost in 
the same order, stood as prizemen in four languages, ancient 
and modern ; and this would be found generally the case, if 
some such system as the one suggested were adopted. 

With such a system in operation, the pedantic phraseology 
of our classic manuals would have to be modified, of course ; 
the examples to the majority of rules to be pitched in a lower 
and more natural key. We have, at present, a genteel and 
superstitious dread, not only of solecisms, but of commonness in 
expression ; forgetting, most unphilosophically, that the vulgar 
tongue is in all cases the real tongue ; that Avhere we can hear 
a language in its. pure, unadulterated vulgarity, — and any one 
but a bagman 1 knows the term is not necessarily synonymous 
with coarseness or slang, — there have we in Italy a correcter 
language than the polished diction of Ovid; and in England 
more homespun stuff than can be drawn from Pope and Gray. 

In our servile admiration of what is falsely called purest 
Latin, our hankering after Augustan elegancies, we lose sight 
of the homely, conversational treasures that might be extracted 
copiously from Plau'tus, less copiously from Ter'ence, and to 
some extent, if we taught Latin as we ought to teach it, from 
our own brains. 

If, by the adoption of a vivd voce ^ conversational method in 
elementary classes, a pupil once got a natural, unconscious grip 
of Latin, style and polish would follow easily enough, as the 
method gradually became more searching, critical, and analytic. 
In our own language we never illustrate early lessons by 
elaborately poised sentences from Robertson or Gibbon, but 
with random speech, familiar instances, common saws. We 
wait patiently until the pupil gets a tight hold of his subject 
before we call upon him to wield it with rhetorical effect. 
A round singlestick suffices for the first rude lessons in the 
use of the trenchant broadsword. 

1 A commercial traveler. '^ Vocal (by the living voice). 



508 D'ABCY WENTWORTH THOMPSON 

So in the illustration of the rules of Latin syntax, I would 
advocate the use of familiar everyday sentences, such as a boy 
might carry about with him as unconsciously as he does his 
jacket. I should not be afraid to employ many a word that 
might be searched for in vain in the pages of Cicero, or even 
in the dull pages of a dictionary ; to let pass uncorrected many 
a phrase that would send a shudder through an Augustan 
precisian. In fact, I should treat Latin and Greek as though 
1 were not in the least afraid of them ; as though there were 
no special linguistic secrets wrapped within their mantles ; as 
though they were simple, honest, straightforward languages, 
like the one spoken without conscious effort by our own street 
ragamuffins. 

So far, however, from ignoring the value of style and finish, 
I should merely be deferring their inculcation until I could 
inculcate them with effect. It seems labor thrown away to 
demonstrate that this is more elegant than that^ when this and 
that are both imperfectly understood. 

Again. At present, ere a boy, by the glimmering light of 
a misty dictionary or the reflected light of his solar tutor, can 
grope through the involutions of an ordinary paragraph, he is 
pushed into works that would probably little interest him, 
could they be perused as easily as his own Robinson Crusoe. 

Cornelius Nepos and Sallust are two special bugbears. Csesar 
is not wholly blameless. I can well imagine a scholar-like 
soldier or historian reading the latter with pleasure and profit. 
But apart from the difficulty of frequently-recurring indirect 
speeches, his narrative, with all its soldierlike simplicity and 
directness, is too extended for boys who can only read it in 
detachments. We ourselves could enjoy no landscape, however 
beautiful, that we saw only in separate rounds through a paper 
tube. But who will stand bail for those other notoriously 
old offenders? What grown man, though reeking with Latin, 
would give an evening hour to the twaddle of the one or the 
pedantry of the other ? And what versatility of human wit 
could render either interesting to children in miserable, daily 



SCHOOL BREAMS AT DUNEDIN 509 

pittances of eight lines, which eight lines would have first to 
be tortured into villainous English, then parsed, word by word ; 
the nouns all declined; the verbs all conjugated — a rumina- 
tive process — then, after pausing to take breath, we should 
begin again at the end, and reverse the order of proceeding, 
running backwards through the verbs and backwards through 
the nouns. And so on, ad nauseam.^ 



III. A Vision 

I was engaged one afternoon with my class in the study of 
that portion of the ^neid where the hero of the poem and the 
Sibyl journey together by dim, uncertain moonlight, through 
the shadowy spaces of the underworld. And when the lesson 
was over, I begged of my boys to learn one splendid passage 
by heart ; and leaning back my chair against the wall, by the 
monotonous murmuring of their voices I was lulled into a 
strange reverie. 

For, in the darkness of the underworld, I saw three figures 
moving slowly ; and the one was gentle and benign of aspect, 
and in him I recognized the divine master of Mantua, ^ ''the 
honor and the light of poetry " ; and the second was of a sad 
and stern countenance, who regarded the master with the 
admiration of a disciple ; and the third was like the spirit 
of myself. 

And we had reached the rim of the seventh circle ; but from 
the inner circle there rose a stench so terrible and noisome that 
I looked aside, if perchance there might be ii place of refuge. 
And in the dark wall of stone there was a wide fissure, like a 
natural doorway, and over the fissure was an inscription that I 
read, with difficulty, — p^dagogorum defunctoruim sedes.^ 
And the divine master went therein ; and the stern and sad dis- 
ciple followed ; and I went, holding by the garment of the latter. 



1 To a disgusting extent. 2 Vergil. 

8 The seats of the departed pedagogues. 



510 B'ABCT WENTWOBTH THOMPSON 

And the fissure opened into a great vaulted cavern, the farther 
end of which was wrapped in gloom ; and there were millions of 
gigantic engines shaped like millstones, and fitted each one 
with a handle ; and the handle of each was like the sail arm of a 
ship of war. And suspended from these handles were the forms 
of men ; and the millstones were motionless, and the place was 
empty of all sound. And suddenly, from the farther gloom, 
came rushing three Erinn'yes ^ ; and the one was armed with a 
scourge, and the second with a yellow reed, and the other with 
what seemed to me a long, thin broom, from whicli the handle 
had been shorn. And rushing to and fro, they scourged the 
suspended figures, and the place was suddenly filled with the 
whirring and the creaking of a million stone wheels. And 
the disciple and I looked inquiringly in the face of the master ; 
but there was a look of unwonted pain in his benign counte- 
nance ; and while we gazed wonderingly, he gave a shrill cry, 
and fell to the ground as one suddenly bereft of life. 

And when at length his spirit revived, we lifted him gently, 
and guided him, in our turn, back through the fissure to the 
rim of the seventh circle. But we feared to ask him aught, 
seeing he had been sore troubled. But he, interpreting our 
secret thoughts, said in tones gentle and very sad : " They 
whom ye saw were P.EDAGOGI in the upper world ; and their 
business it was to turn rapidly the gerund stone. And foras- 
much as I was born upon the skirts of Ignorance, and knew 
not the darkness of my day, therefore am I doomed to suffer 
sorely in the spirit with the turning of their gerund stones. 
And I shall be parsed thereby for twice a thousand years. 
And thereupon, the pedant shall sit upon the bagman, crush- 
ing him ; and the pedant shall choke in his own fat. And 
after that my spirit shall have rest." 

At this moment I was roused by the sudden cessation of the 
wonted murmuring ; and looking up, I saw the hour was on 
the stroke of one, and dismissed my boys to play. 

1 The Furies, personifying conscience. 



SCHOOL BREAMS AT BUNEDIN 511 



IV. The Schoolmaster's Love Letter 

mea eara^ pulchra Mary, 

Qudm vellem tecum concordare ! ^ 

What bliss with thee, my Noun, to live, 

Agreeing like the Adjective ; 

Not — Heaven forbid it ! — genere^ 

Si esset id possihile ; ^ 

But being one, and only so, 

Concordaremus numero ; ^ 

And I'd agree with thee, my pet, 

Casu ; ay, casu quolihet ; * 

Likewise, as Relative, I'd fain 

A Concord Personal maintain. 

Thus borrowing from two parts of speech 

The partial harmony of each. 

Maybe, from qui ^ if more we'd borrow, 

I'd be in quod,^ and thou in sorrow ; 

For, Mary, better 'tis to give. 

Than borrow with your relative. 

Three grades are in Comparison ; 

My love admits of only one ; 

Only Superlative to me 

Thy beauty is, like optimeJ 

O Mary, Mary, seal my fate ; 

Be candid, ere it be too late. 

Is thy heart open to my suit. 

Free as an Ablative absolute ? 

Do, while I'm in the mood Optative, 

Follow me. Darling, in the dative ; 

1 O my dear, beautiful Mary, 
How I should like to agree with thee. 

2 In the family, if it should be possible. * In case ; ay, in any case. 

3 We should agree in number. ^ Any one. 

6 The quadrangle of a prison ; a jail. 
'' Superlative of bonus, good. 



512 D'ARCT WENTn'ORTH THOMPSON 

Though I should be, for that conditioiij 
Compounded with a Preposition. 
Well, sure, of all the girls I see, 
To each and all proepono te, 
Te omnibus pKcepono, quare^ 
Thou art my preposition, Mary. 
Ah ! Dear, should everything go well. 
And love should ring our marriage bell, 
Our happiness — to be prospective — 
Would still, like amho^ be defective ; 
But Plural-caret should we miss. 
While Singular and complete in bliss ? 
No, no ; for a while, my Pearl, my Jewel, 
We'd linger patiently in the Dual ; 
Or ere a year had circled round. 

In cursu rerum naturali^'^ 
Some morn or eve we should be found 

Happy in numero plurali.^ 
Then one in heart and soul and mind. 
We'd grow in love as years declined. 
Moods of command and dubitation 
We'd blot from out life's conjugation. 
Our love, like all things sweet and good, 
Were best expressed, when understood ; 
Timidly noiseless, purely shy. 

Unheard of all, yet plain to see — 
Like peeping moon in fleecy sky. 

Or h in hora and homine. 
But life, alas, to all that live. 
Unlike true love, is Transitive, 
To love, Intransitive love, is given 
To Govern all in earth and heaven. 



1 I prefer thee — I prefer thee to all, for which reason. 

2 In the natural course of things. 

3 In the plural number. 



SCHOOL BREAMS AT DUNEBIN 613 

Yes, Mary, the ring that would bind you to me 

Were a poor Conjunction that death might sever — 
A thin frail et^'^ and a life-long que, — ^ 

But the link of our love would bind forever. 
And so, when came the certain ^ms,^ 

We'd be content, my own, my Dearie, 
Sub uno tumulo duplex cinis,^ 

Two Supines, in one grave, jacere.^ 
With folded hands upon heaveless breast, 

Side by side in our little earth bed. 
Silent as Gerunds in dum ^ we'd rest. 

While the thunder of noisy years rolled overhead. 
And we'd sleep a sleep, still, calm, and sweet. 
Till our graves grew forgotten and Obsolete ; 
Waiting the Voice that, as good men trust. 
Shall make Active of Passive, and Spirit of dust. 

V. Fallacies 

"There is nothing new under the sun," said Solomon ; and 
his apothegm was as old as the truth it embodied. " Our 
learning is but recollection," said Plato ; and what a deal he 
must have known, ere his memory was dimmed by his human- 
ity ! " What hath been, is, and will be," said or thought 
Pythagoras ; and the sentiment was as true and trite as that 
of King Solomon. 

Wise men of old have given us the potted essence of sagac- 
ity in small canisters, such as we may carry about with us, 
without trouble, to the equator or either pole. Alas, too 
often, in starting on our life journey, we hamper ourselves with 
burdensome provisions that are found in a green mold ere the 
journey is half over. 



1 Conjunctions. 2 Tj^e end. 

8 A double corse, in a single tomb. * To lie. 
^ Gerunds ending in the syllable dMm. 

SCH. IN COM. — 33 



514 D'ABCr WENTWOBTH THOMPSON 

Keeping in view the maxims above quoted, and that of Plato 
in particular, let us review the several words that at various 
times have been adopted to define or specify the occupation of 
a schoolmaster. 

He may be called a teacher. But the root of the verb teach 
is the middle syllable of the word inc^zVate ; and he who teaches 
merely points out this or that with his digits., doigts^ or toes ; 
and it is obvious that the objects to which he points must be 
extraneous to himself. Or he may be said to be employed in 
the business of instruction or edification. But these are simple 
building terms ; and no bricklayer can make a wall out of his 
own head, however thick that head may be. 

Or again, in old-fashioned speech, for which we have Old 
Testament authority, he may be said to learn his pupils this or 
that language or science. And herein I observe how directly 
vulgar speech goes to the bull's eye of truth. For the verb 
lear?i may be used in a sort of reflective sense ; and a man who 
teaches Latin to his pupils may be said to get them to learn or 
recollect Latin. 

Again, when a boy, apparently dull, has his first lesson in 
geometry, he reads that a point has no parts and no magnitude. 
Why, this is a definition that would apply to a thought^ a smelly 
the tail of a guinea pig ; to pigeon's milk^ a mare's egg, or to noth- 
ing at all. I am convinced that many a boy, apparently dull, 
would grasp the idea of a mathematical point, who could never 
catch the force of the above definition. He could easily under- 
stand that a solid body occupies space, that space is bounded 
by surfaces, that surfaces are bounded by lines, that lines are 
bounded by points. And thus, from an intuitive idea of 
bulk, he is led to a mathematical conception of surfaces, lines, 
and points, without the aid of a single definition. To com- 
mence the study of geometry with a novice by the definition 
of a point, is like commencing a series of anatomical lectures 
with an account of our once cellular condition, or the biog- 
raphy of a polemical theologian with a definition of his Chris- 
tian charity. 



SCHOOL DREAMS AT DUNEDIN 515 

Again, to define a straight line as that which lies evenly between 
its extreme points^ is to give a definition that still requires defin- 
ing ; for the word evenly seems to beg the whole question at 
issue. I believe a better definition of a straight line would be 
that it ivas a line not croohed ; or perhaps a better one still, 
that a straight line is a straight line. And if I wished a child 
to grasp the idea of a point, I should ask him to think of the 
sharp end of a needle, with his eyes shut, or of the respect paid 
to learning in Dunedin, with his eyes open ; and to aid him in 
grasping the idea of a straight line, I should ask him again to 
shut his eyes and picture to himself an arrow so thin that he 
could shoot it through a window-pane without breaking it ; or 
I should ask him to imagine the course which an ecclesiastic 
would take if a bull were behind him or a bishopric in front. 

In arguing once with a mathematician of eminence, I asserted 
that I would make clear and intelligible to any non-mathemat- 
ical man of common sense any symbolical expression, however 
complex, provided only that I clearly understood it myself. 
He desired me to make the experiment with the expression 

aO = ^0 = cO = etc. =x'^ = l. 

I did so in his presence, and was allowed to have carried my 
point. And the inference I wish to be draAvn from this is, 
simply, that mathematical symbols very often, like moral apho- 
risms, are but brief and convenient ways of putting universally- 
known truths. 

A pupil often dislikes a master unreasonably in his youth, 
and eulogizes him as unreasonably in manhood. " Ah ! " says 
he, as he sips his wine, " what little knowledge I have was all 
got from old So-and-so." Of course, he does not mean any 
one else to believe what he does not believe himself, and what, 
indeed, is not true. 

When the praises of some great scholar or mathematician 
are being rehearsed, you may hear a master say with a pardon- 
able pride: "Ay, So-and-so was my pupil for many a year." 
And he believes in the inference of his words, and wishes you 



516 D'AECY WENTWORTH THOMPSON 

to believe in it too. He is perfectly honest ; but his inference 
is not true, for all that. It may be partially true, it may be 
wholly false. 

A very poor teacher and a poorer scholar was speaking in 
my presence of a Cambridge star. "He read with me," said 
he, "for six years together." And I thought to myself : " Had 
he read with you for twelve, he would still have been an excel- 
lent scholar." 

I grant that a vigorous and energetic tutor may cram to 
almost any extent a youth whose health is robust and whose 
bent of intellect is very prosaic and very acquisitive. He 
may, with a tremendous effort, push him very near to a first 
class at Oxford ; Avith a great effort, he may push him into the 
first class at Cambridge ; with a prolonged, but not exhausting 
effort, he may push him one third of the way up the list of 
wranglers ; he may without difficulty, but not without patience 
and a long course of pdte-de-Strashurg'^ feeding, make of his 
pupil a Mandarin of the Blue Button in our Chinese examinations 
for India and the civil service. So in the pages of Theodore 
Hook have I read how a dog-fancier prepared an often-stolen 
dog for diverse markets ; how, by processes of rubbing, pol- 
ishing, cutting, clipping and fattening, the chameleon hound 
passed through various metempsycho'ses, as spaniel, greyhound, 
retriever, bull terrier, and mastiff. 

But with a youth of fine talents and a love of knowledge 
for its own sweet sake, a master can only fire his ambition by 
his precepts and his example. "He can no more digest his 
mental than his physical aliment. 

Does a master ever meet with such a pupil ? Very, very 
rarely. And indeed, if a boy be gifted with good natural 
parts and inclined to follow knowledge for herself alone, his 
motives for study are nearly sure to be corrujDted by the foolish 
but pardonable ambition of his parents or his schoolmaster. 

1 A pasty made of fat goose livers, imported from Strasburg. The reference 
is to the excessive and unnatural feeding of the geese for the purpose of swelling 
their livers. 



SCHOOL BREAMS AT BUNEDIN 517 

'^ How is it," says a father, '^ that my boy is so low down in 
his class ? " ''I think," said the master to an old pupil, " you 
need not read such and such a book, for it's sure not to pay in 
any examination." 

However, if your genius is rare, I verily believe that your 
dunce is a phoenix ^ still more rare. Indeed, I have never 
met with an undoubted specimen of the hoohy. Perhaps, a 
physically healthy booby is as great a rarity as a live dodo.^ 
I have known many lads to be classified under the category ; 
but, on investigation, I have always found that their training 
Avas at fault ; that the gravelly part of their intelligence was 
being plowed, and the loamy part left fallow. 

It seems to me that, in his intellectual capacity, a teacher has 
to point out to his pupils a writing on the wall, to direct their 
gaze, and to throw a good light upon the inscription. It is 
possible that young eyes will decipher it more easily and cor- 
rectly than he does himself. 

But though young eyes are sharp, young judgment is not 
very trustworthy. So a boy may draw a Avrong inference from 
what, in one sense, he clearly apprehends. He can run at great 
speed ; more quickly than a grown man. Then keep him on the 
right road. When he comes to where many ways meet, let him 
find signposts, with inscriptions clear and short and legible ; 
and be very careful that the signboards point the right way. 

I have known instances where these signboards were duly 
set up, but the boards were considerably larger than those we 
see on turnpikes, and the inscriptions so long and indistinct 
that, long before they could be deciphered, it was time to go 
to bed. 

You remember, reader, how Diogenes, to be busy like the rest 
of his fellow-citizens, rolled his tub up and down the market- 
place. Now, if he had rolled it up and down a back alley, he 
would have done no harm ; and it was certainly not his inten- 



1 A fabulous bird of antiquity, said to rise from its ashes. 

2 The dodo is an extinct bird. 



518 D'ARCY WENTWORTH THOMPSON 

tion to do any good. But in the market-place, you may depend 
upon it, he was terribly in the way. There are a great many 
respectable men among ourselves, who, with the best of motives, 
are unconsciously imitating the ill-natured cynic, and who pass 
their whole lives in rolling big, empty tubs up and down our 
most crowded thoroughfares. Were you ever present, reader, 
at a debate in either House of Parliament ? In a century or 
two, I am convinced, the policeman will be making these tub- 
rollers move on. 

In all her works, nature, who is the handmaid of God, is 
simple and direct. We have no well-authenticated instance 
of her tying knots for the mere amusement of unraveling them. 
Man, in the majority of his works, displays a love of intricacy 
and obstruction, and more so in mental operations than in 
handiwork. A carpenter comes provided only with tools for 
chiseling and planing, and never turns aside to sweep a chimney 
or whitewash a ceiling. A surgeon proceeds at once to the 
amputation of a wounded limb, and never thinks of commencing 
operations by making the wound worse. But a schoolmaster, in 
teaching a language to a young pupil, burdens his lessons with 
explanations that are infinitely more perplexing than their sub 
ject. Many a child would have found Latin easy and interest- 
ing, had we not been at such pains to make it difficult and dull. 

Many a child would find the Lord's day a day of calm and 
happiness ; would grow up in the belief that religion is a 
sweet and pleasant thing , that virtue is not a hardship ; that 
vice is of itself detestable , and that God is far wiser than 
even his own father, and kinder than even his own mother, — 
but for those ingeniously obstructive means that divines have 
invented for the purpose of checking the spontaneous spiritu- 
ality of children. A child is supposed to be religiously brought 
up if his Sunday hours are choked with liturgies and collects 
and catechisms. He repeats definitions of doctrines that are 
beyond the comprehension of humanity. He is taught to regard 
as sinful actions as extraneous to morality as the neighing of 
a horse. His duty to God is made obscure by the midnight of 



SCHOOL DREAMS AT DUNEBIN 519 

superfluous words. His duty to his neighbor, that intuition 
or example woukl imperceptibly have taught, is made odious 
by being communicated in a long and difficult formula, which 
he has to repeat like a parrot. He prattles innocently of so 
wonderful a doctrine as that of eternal salvation for the good — 
and there is no harm in that — and of so terrible an one as that 
of the eternal condemnation of the wicked. But he is not told 
that the word eternal means everlasting^ and that everlasting 
means eternal ; and that the meaning of either word is as much 
beyond the comprehension of a Newton as it is beyond that of 
a theologian or a baboon. 

While the jumbling of a child's mental and spiritual nature 
is the business of the schoolmaster and divine, the jumbling of 
the interests of manhood, social, commercial, and political, is 
the prerogative of the statesman. How many a petty kingdom 
would have risen long ago into wealth and importance, but for 
the obstructive ingenuity of its well-meaning but tub-rolling 
rulers I 

In former days the Faculty of Medicine rolled a tub terrible 
as the car of Juggernaut. Charged with a deadly erudition, 
the professional healer passed a knee-breeched life, doing all 
manner of mischief among the people. To many an one a 
weeping Martha might have said : " Sir, if thou hadst not been 
here, our brother had not died." But of late years an ebb- 
tide of repentance has happily set in, and the Faculty now 
sets an example to other professions of a reverence for nature 
and simplicity. 

The combined effects of the jumbling system, as pursued by 
teacher, divine, and statesman, make of society an easy prey to 
that cormorant profession Avhich thrives on the garbage of 
man's follies and vices. In whatever country the lawyer class 
is wealthy and powerful, we may be sure that the schoolmaster 
and the divine are there either wholly idle or mischievously 
active. For the lawyer is, as you are well aware, reader, the 
very incarnation of the But no, my chapter is on Fal- 
lacies, and would close most iiiappropriately with a truism. 



ERNST ECKSTEIN 

Some years ago a young German scholar who was sojourning in the 
Eternal City perpetrated a piece of humor which set the world in a roar of 
laughter. This was Ernst Eckstein, known at the present time as the 
incomparable German writer of belles-lettres — poet, historical novelist, and 
humorist of the day. The piece, Der Besuch im Career (The Visit to the 
Cell), was a character sketch from a gymnasium experience, which may not 
have been wholly imaginary — one of the numerous Schulhumoresken (school 
humor sketches) with which the author has since filled a volume. 

Thousands upon thousands of copies of this sketch were sold throughout 
every part of Germany. Other nations, seeming to see in it the master 
touch of a gTeat artist, appropriated it in popular translations of more or 
less merit. In Leipzig the ever-increasing demand for this publication, up 
to the present time, has exhausted fifty-four editions. 

Ernst Eckstein is a native of the city of Giessen, in Ober-Hessen, on the 
northern border of what is known as South Germany, and is now in his 
fiftieth year. His earliest work which attracted attention in the Fatherland 
was Die Schach der Konigin (The Queen's Chess), which he wrote at the age 
of twenty-five. His Pamer Silhouetten (Parisian Silhouettes) — pictures of 
life at the French capital — appeared in 1873. Within recent years he has 
produced a number of historical novels of high rank. Among these are 
Prusias, a story of the last century of the Roman Republic ; Die Claudier 
(The Claudii), a novel of the Roman Empire ; Aphrodite, the scene of which 
is laid in ancient Greece ; Pia, a story of the thirteenth century. Among 
his poems are Murillo, a lay of the Guadalaquivir, the Venus Urania, a trav- 
esty in epic form. 

Eckstein excels in all the various departments of literature which his 
versatility has prompted him to enter. In genial humor which is wholly 
without malice, and which is irresistible in its force, he has scarcely an 
equal among the Germans. 

There are few persons who are not susceptible to such innocent humor as 
that of Der Besuch im Career ; yet, singularly, this charming little story has 
been violently assailed by certain schoolmasters of Germany, who have 
seemed to find in it the inculcation of very wrong and harmful sentiments, 
and a danger to the dignity of their profession. 

520 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 521 

In such uncongenial and mistaken persons the sense of humor nmst be 
wholly wanting, and true pedagogic insight extremely defective. It is not 
enough to say that the sketch in question is a harmless piece of pleasantry. 
It illustrates a principle which every true teacher should fully recognize — 
that it is impracticable as well as needless to attempt the repression of all 
youthful exuberance of humor and playfulness. Moreover, it contains a 
lesson on mannerism in the schoolroom, which most teachers of the present 
time would do well to consider. 

Calm in the judgment of the world upon the little skit which has carried 
his name to every land and has passed under the eyes of a myriad of school- 
masters, the author has paid little attention to these adverse criticisms. In 
the last Leipzig edition of the booklet he has inserted the following charac- 
teristic preface : 

" When, in my quiet and lonely study in sight of the Pantheon at Rome, 
I evolved the character of Samuel Heinzerling, I little dreamed how quickly 
that worthy gentleman would form the acquaintance of the civilized world. 
I read the book in a very leisurely way, on its first appearance. It was a 
royal treat; but I regarded my enjoyment as merely subjective, without so 
much as casting a thought on the public. I was my own most delighted 
and interested reader. This fact has relieved me of the necessity of answer- 
ing those unfriendly and narrow-minded individuals, especially certain school- 
masters, who regard the pranks of William Rumpf with less tolerance than 
our excellent Samuel exhibited. I wrote Der Besuch im Career because it 
amused me, and with no premeditated intention. It would seem that the 
unfortunate pedant is unable to appreciate this ; nor is he, with all his learn- 
ing, able to comprehend the free working of an exuberant young spirit. Let 
the gentlemen continue to bluster in true pedagogic style. Meanwhile, the 
fifty-fourth edition is in as little danger of shipwreck as its predecessors have 
been." 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 

It had just struck two. Dr. Samuel Heinzerling, Principal 
of the City Gymnasium,^ strolled with his own dignity into the 
campus, and slowly climbed the steps. On the landing he met 

1 The gymnasiums of Germany are schools for higher branches of literature 
and science, in which pupils are prepared to enter the universities. These gym- 
nasiums are celebrated for the thoroughness and efficiency for their preparatory 
training. 



522 ERNST ECKSTEIN 

the janitor, who had just rung the bell and was going to his 
private apartments, where an abundance of household work lay 
waiting. 

" Has a-a-nything ha-a-ppened, Quaddler ? " asked the Prin- 
cipal, answering the servile greeting of the janitor with a lordly 
nod. 

"No, Professor." 

" Has the libra-a-rian decided yet on the books in question ? " 

"No, Professor." 

. " Ve=e-ry we-e-U. Be shore to go over, to-day, and find out 
how the ma-a-tter sta-a-nds. One thing more ! Freshman 
Roampf has been a-a-bsent for some days. Call at his room, 
and convince yoarself whether or not he is really seek. I 
doubt it somewhat — " 

" Excuse me. Professor ; Rumpf is back again. I saw him 
just now, coming across the campus." 

"Ve-e-ry we-e-U ! Ve-e-ry we-e-11! " 

The reader will please excuse the peculiar spelling which 
occurs in the conversations of Dr. Samuel Heinzerling. The 
Doctor did not pronounce really so abnormally as this spelling 
would indicate, but the individuality of his vocalization was 
striking. 1 A hundred times I have tried to imitate him, in my 
study, in vain ; so I may well be excused for not reducing him 
to paper. 

Once more the Professor muttered, " Ve-e-ry we-e-U I Ye-e-ry 
we-e-U ! " and slowly walked down the long corridor toward the 
door of his lecture room. 

Samuel had appeared uncommonly early, to-day. As a rule 
he was strictly punctual, but not ahead of time. A domestic 
discord, over which delicacy bids us draw the curtain, had 
driven him from the easy-chair in which he was accustomed to 
sip his afternoon coffee. So it happened that the seniors had 
withdrawn their usual watch. 



1 Making all due allowance for caricature, it is evident tliat the mannerism 
of Dr. Heinzerling was very pronounced. 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 523 

111 the corridor the jProfessor perceived that a great coramo- 
tion was taking place in his lecture room. Forty noisy young- 
sters were shouting ''Bravo !" and ^'^ Da capo!''' (dah call' po).^ 

Samuel wrinkled his forehead. 

Now the racket ceased, and a clear, cutting voice began in 
comic pathos : 

"We-e-U, yo' may call it enoof for this time. Yo' have 
failed again to prepa-a-re yoarself prawperly. Heppenheimer, 
I am mooch dissa-a-tisfied with yo' ! Be seated ! " 

Thundering applause. 

The Professor stood as if petrified. 

By all the gods of Greece, that was himself, as he lived and 
breathed. A little caricatured, but only an expert could tell 
the difference. Such blasphemy had never been heard of ! It 
would be a byword ! It would raise a rebellion ! A pupil 
was bold enough, on his own platform, to make a laughing- 
stock of him, the actual Principal of this whole Gymnasium, 
the author of the " Latin Grammar for Schools and Colleges, 
Adapted Especially to the Wants of Advanced Pupils ; " the 
popular teacher, the critic, the philosopher — Proh^ Pudor I 
Ronos sit aurihus ! ^ Such a prank could originate only in the 
brain of that precious rascal, William Rompf . 

" Weel yo' transla-a-te, Moericke ? " continued the voice of 
the unconscionable pupil. 

" Wh-a-at ! Yo' are seek ? Great Csesar I When yong 
people of yoar age tell me they are seek, they make a ve-e-ry 
ba-a-d eempression. 

" Knebel ! Write in the Re-e-gister, ' Moericke, when called 
to transla-a-te, was seek — ' " 

The Professor was no lono^er able to master his emotions. 
He opened the door energetically, and w^alked in upon the 
youngsters, like a lion among gazelles. He had not been 
deceived. It was, indeed, William Rumpf that had so trifled 

1 A term used in music to indicate a repetition from the beginning. It is used 
here as an expression of approval. 

2 For shame ! Let the ears be honored. 



524 i:rnst Eckstein 

with his majesty. This young man had been a pupil of the 
Gymnasium only six weeks, and yet he was already facile prin- 
ceps 1 among the wags of the school, from Freshman to Senior. 
With his shirt collar turned up, and an enormous pair of paper 
spectacles on his nose, in his left hand a book, and in his right 
the traditional lead pencil, stood Rumpf on the platform, ready 
to commit a new sacrilege, as the deeply suffering Professor 
entered. 

" Eoampf ! " said Samuel forcibly, " Roampf ! Yo' will gaw 
for two days to the lock-oop.^ Knebel, write in the Re-e-gis- 
ter, 'Roampf, on account of puerile and eemprawper conduct, 
is punished with two days' confinement in the lock-oop.' Hep- 
penheimer, call the ja-a-nitor." 

"But, Professor — " stammered Rumpf, as he stuffed the 
paper spectacles into his pocket and took his seat. 

" Naw back-talk 1 " 

"I was only — I thought — " 

" Silence, I say ! " 

"But please — " 

" Knebel, write : ' Roampf, on account of oonsoobmeesive 
conduct, is poonished with another day's confinement in the 
lock-oop.' I am tired of bothering with yo'. Yo' should be 
asha-a-med of yourself — And in yoar own lecture room, too ! 
Fie! I say. Fie!" 

" But, Professor, Audiatur et altera pars.^ Haven't you 
often told us so ? " 

" We-e-U ! Yo' shall not sa-a-y that I do not sta-a-nd by 
my principles. What have yo' to offer in excuse ? " 

" I assure you, I did not intend anything unseemly. I meant 
merely to practice a little mimicry." 

"Pra-a-ctice on yoar La-a-tin pa-a-radigm and yoar Greek 
Gra-a-mmar ! " 



1 The admitted chief. 

2 Cells for the solitary confinement of refractory students constitute a part of 
the regular equipment of German gymnasiums and universities- 

3 Let the other side he heard. 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 525 

"So I do, Professor. But art has a place along with 
science." 

" I ne-e-ver denied that in my life. Boot Caesar ! To call 
your silliness art ! If tha-a-t were the ca-a-se, art would be 
ve-e-ry useless ! " 

" Professor, will you please — " 

" Silence ! If yo' keep on, yo' will sooner or la-a-ter sooffer 
shipwreck. Knipcke, see where the ja-a-nitor and Heppen- 
heimer are wa-a-iting." 

" For this once — just this once," came from Rumpf in a low 
and conciliating tone, "can you not remit the punishment? " 

'^ Naw, by naw means ! We will not be foorther inter- 
roopted in our woork. Hutzler, yo' may tra-a-nsla-a-te — " 

" Professor, I am not prepared with my translation. Here 
is my excuse." 

"Saw, yo' were seek again? Hutzler, yo' are oftener seek 
than we-e-U." 

" Unfortunately, Professor, my weak constitution — " 

" Weak ! I should say weak ! I wish e-e-vryone were as 
weak as yo' ! Yo' are la-a-zy enoof, boot not weak ! " 

" Lazy? I can't work during an attack of fever ! " 

" I oonderstand tha-a-t ! Yo've been dreenking too mooch 
beer ! Yo' may tra-a-nsla-a-te, Gildemeister." 

" Absent ! " shouted a half dozen voices. 

Samuel shook his head dejectedly. 

" Does a-a-nyone know why Gildemeister is a-a-bsent? " 

" He has catarrh ! " shouted the six. 

" Catarrh ! When I was of his age, I never had catarrh. 
But where are Knipcke and Heppenheimer ? Schwarz, hoont 
them op, but come ba-a-ck immediately ! " 

Schwartz left, and returned in about ten minutes with the 
janitor and the other two messengers. 

" Mr. Quaddler was busy papering the wall," said Heppen- 
heimer respectfully. " He had to dress up a little." 

" Saw yo' wait a half an hour ! Quaddler, I find yo' are 
grawing ca-a-reless ! " 



526 UBNST ECKSTEIN 

" Beg your pardon, Professor ; the young gentlemen called 
me not over two minutes ago." 

" Listen to that ! " chorused the culprits. 

" I will not investigate this act at present ! Here ! Take 
Roampf, and shut him in the lock-oop. Roampf, yo' will 
beha-a-ve yoarself properly, and not be continually calling 
the janitor, as you did last week. Quaddler, dawn't allow 
yoarself to be persuaded to let Eoampf out oopon the floor of 
the entry. If he wants ayer, he can open the window. Yo'd 
best put everything necessary inside the cell, and lock the door 
once for all. He dawn't come out till Friday evening." 

" Capital, Professor ! " 

" He can arrange concerning his meals with some of his 
friends. Yo' oonderstand ? " 

Rumpf nodded. 

" We-e-11 ! Away with him ! " 

" Are you really in earnest, Professor ? All on account of a 
little artistic rendering — " 

Samuel Heinzerling laughed in the true pedagogical style. 

" Yo' are a droll chap, in spite of yoar oonseemliness. But I 
ca-a-n't help yo'. Until yo' demonstrate to me wherein yoar 
alleged artistic rendering is useful or beneficial — to say 
nothing of yoar oonseemly tendencies — yo' moost submit to 
the inevitable. We-e-U, gaw along with him now ! " 

William Rumpf bit his lip, turned, and disappeared with 
Quaddler in the corridor. 

" What have you been doing ? " asked the janitor, as they 
ascended the stairs. 

'' Nothing ! " 

"Excuse me ; you must have been doing something." 

"I did just what the Professor does every day." 

" How so ? " 

"Listen now — Do yo' see that? Roampf is a good-for- 
nothing, my dear Quaddler, and desairves exemplary poon- 
ishment." 

" Great Heaven above ! " exclaimed the janitor, scratching 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 527 

his head. ''If anyone had told me that was possible — but 
that is too bad, Mr. Rumpf ! Goodness knows that if I hadn't 
seen you with my own eyes I should have sworn I heard the 
Professor's own voice. I should say so a thousand times. 
You Avill make your mark yet in that line. Do you know 
that when I was over at Lotz's I heard a ventriloquist who 
could imitate anything you pleased, from a dog or a horse to 
a wedding ceremony, — but he didn't begin to come up to 
you." 

" I believe it is saw, Quaddler," returned Rumpf, still imita- 
ting the Professor. 

" And you have been mocking him to his face ! Now, Mr. 
Rumpf, I tell you for your own good — everything in its 
proper place. That was very improper. The Professor has 
good reason for what he does." 

" Yo' think saw ? " 

" I must politely ask you to quit your nonsense. It is not 
respectful to my position. Please to walk in here ! " 

''With mooch pleasure." 

" I will say to the professor, Mr. Rumpf, that he has not 
given you enough punishment." 

" How does my poonishment concern you, Mr. Quaddler, yo' 
silly awld fool ! " 

" Concern me ? Not at all ! But it does concern me when 
you make sport of the Professor in an impudent way." 

"I will do as I please." 

"No, you won't." 

" Won't I ? I can sa-a-y what I please ; and if yo' doan't 
like it, yo' can gaw away or stop oop yoar ears." 

" You just wait ! " 

" What for ? " 

"I shall tell the Professor about this.'* 

"Give him my compliments." 

" You'll be sorry, yet ! " 

Quaddler turned the key, and his footsteps slowly sounded 
down the long staircase. 



528 JEBNST ECKSTEIN 

Meanwhile, in the hall of the Seniors, Sophocles was being 
eagerly interpreted. Much to the mirth of the hilarious class, 
Heppenheimer rendered the groan of the unhappy Philoctetes : ^ 
'' Ay ! ay ! ay ! ay 1 " 

The Professor interrupted him. 

" Say aw I aw ! aw ! aw ! Ay is not allowable as an inter- 
jection expressing pain." 

" I thought that oh is allowable to express bodily suffering 
only," remarked Heppenheimer. 

" Now, perha-a-ps yo' think that Philoctetes sooffered awnly 
mentally. Yo' appear to have followed out the plot of the 
tragedy with a ve-e-ry slight degree of attention." 

" Some one is knocking. Professor," said Knebel. 

" See who it is, Knipcke." 

Knipcke hastened to the door. 

"What, yo', Quaddler ? Why do yo' distoorb us again? 
Speak out quickly ! " 

''I only wished to remark, sir, that Senior Rumpf is still 
talking in the manner for which you punished him." 

" What ! He prawceeds with the comedy ! We-e-11, I knaw 
what measure to take next. Knebel, write in the Register — 
naw, let it gaw ! Heppenheimer proceed. Say aw ! aw ! aw ! 
aw ! — not ay ! ay ! ay ! ay ! The following exclamation 
yo' may render with '- Ye eternal gods ! ' or ' Almighty 
Heaven ! ' " 

Heppenheimer finished his task and brought forth an indif- 
ferent " Sa-a-tisfactory," from the Professor. Then Schwarz 
translated, only to receive a " Not we-e-11 rendered ! " 

Now the janitor's bell sounded. The author of " The Latin 
Grammar for Schools and Colleges, Adapted Especially," etc., 
declared the recitation ended. 



1 Sophocles' tragedy of Philoctetes (the original Robinson Crusoe, the cast- 
away of Lemnos) is one of the masterpieces of Greek drama, being one of 
the most perfect character studies in all literature. The unfortunate Philoctetes 
was afflicted with bodily torture as well as mental anguish. 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 529 

Dr. Klufenbrecher appeared in the door ; this was the Pro- 
fessor of Mathematics, whose duty it was to entertain the 
Seniors from three till four o'clock with the secrets of analyti- 
cal geometry. Samuel Heinzerling extended his much-freckled 
right hand to his " esteemed coworker," condescendingly, but 
not without a certain human sympathy, and then betook him- 
self to the Principal's office, where he seated himself in his 
Avell-cushioned chair. 

Quaddler went, meanwhile, to the work which employed his 
odd hours. He dipped the brush vigorously into the paste- 
pot, and smeared strip after strip of paper with the odoriferous 
glue. 

William Rumpf sat yawning on the bench, and declared to 
himself that he was completely tired of the Gymnasium, with 
its undeserved imprisonment. 

Professor Samuel Heinzerling scratched his head, turned his 
spectacles, and nodded in a pedagogical way. 

"The miserable yoongster, Roampf," murmured he to him- 
self . '' Boot I almawst believe I can do more with him by kind- 
ness than by force. I will make a strong la-a-st appeal to his 
conscience. Shame on him ! He is one of my brightest 
scholars." 

The Professor rang the bell. In about three minutes ap- 
peared Annie, Quaddler's sixteen-year-old daughter. She was 
evidently about to take a walk, as a jaunty hat adorned her 
jetty locks and a gay shawl hung loosely from her graceful 
shoulders. 

"- What is wanting. Professor ? " she asked with a gracious 
bow. 

'' Where is your father ? " asked the Professor softly, and 
pronouncing uncommonly well. 

'' He is hanging paper ; do you want him for anything ? " 

" Hanging pa-a-per, is he ? Well, do not distoorb him. Noth- 
ing especial is needed, Annie. The key to the lock-oop ha-a-ngs 
in its place, does it not ? " 

"I will inquire at once, Professor." 

SCH, IN COM, — 34 



530 ERNST ECKSTEIN 

Like a deer she hastened down the stairs. In a few seconds 
she was back. 

'' Yes, Professor, the keys are both in place, the one to the 
cell, and the other to the entry. Is there anything else I can 
do for yon. Professor ? " 

"No, I tha-a-nk yo'." 

Annie vanished. The Professor watched her disappear, with 
a smile. 

"A charming child. I would give mooch if my Winifred 
possessed ha-a-lf saw mooch savoir vivre} to say nothing of 
Ismene. This Quaddler is a paganus^'^ a homo incuUus^^ and, 
nevertheless, he is able to bring up a charming lady ; while 
I, the well-educated scholar of classical antiquity, I, the homo 
cui nihil humani alienum est^^ am not able to do so well with 
my more favorably circumstanced posterity." 

He rubbed his smoothly-shaven chin, took his hat from the 
table, and climbed the stairs to the lock-up. 

William Rumpf was greatly surprised when, after so short 
a time, the door turned on its hinges. His astonishment, how- 
ever, reached the zenith point when he recognized his unexpected 
visitor to be the Principal, Samuel Heinzerling. 

"Now, Roampf," said the conscientious pedagogue. 

" What do you want. Professor ? " answered the pupil in a 
tone of resolute obduracy. 

" I wished awnly to inquire whether yo' oonderstand yoarself , 
and realize that these puerilities roon counter to the object and 
to the government of the Gymnasium — " 

" I am not yet convinced — " 

" Wha-a-t, Poampf ! Yo' will continue to sta-a-nd on yoar 
hind legs ? What would yo' say if yo' were in my place ? 
Would yo' not take this mischievous, overspirited William 
Roampf by the ears — hey ?" 

" Professor — " 



1 Good breeding. 2 Country fellow. ^ Ignoramus. 
* A man to whom nothing relating to man is foreign. 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 531 

"These are puerilities not becoming in a respectable yoong 
man of good family. Do yo' know one thing ? On the occa- 
sion of the next stupid pra-a-nk, I will expel yo'." ^ 

" Expel ? " 

" Yes, Roampf, expel. So now apply yoarself and leave off 
this rudeness, which certainly doos yo' naw credit — I repeat, 
put yoarself in my place." 

William Rumpf sat with his head bowed. He felt that the 
threatened expulsion was only a question of time. Suddenly 
a diabolical thought entered his brain. 

" If I am put out," he said to himself, '' it will be with much 
ceremony." 

He laughed like the criminal hero of a sensational novel 
after accomplishing his purposes, and said, in a tone of incipient 
repentance, " You mean. Professor, that I should put myself in 
your place ? " 

"Yes, Roampf, I mean it." 

"Well, if you are bound to have it so, I wish you much 
pleasure ! " 

Thereupon he sprang out the door, turned the key in the 
lock, and left the poor Professor to his unexpected fate. 

" Roampf ! How dare you ! I will expel yo' to-day. Will 
yo' open instantly ? instantly, I say ! " 

" You get two hours' imprisonment," answered Rumpf, with 
dignity. " You said, yourself, that I should put myself in your 
place." 

" Roampf, there'll be trouble for you — trouble I say. 
Awpen ! I command it ! " 

" You cannot command me. I am, at present, the Principal. 
You are Freshman Rumpf. Be still ! I tolerate no back talk ! " 

" Roampf, my boy, I will excuse yo' this time. Please do 
the square thing. Yo' will get off with a light poonishment, 
yo' will not be expelled, I promise yo'. Do yo' hear?" 

1 Expulsion from a German gymnasium or university is a greater misfortune 
than might be supposed by American students. It is almost certain to mean the 
life-long failure of the student thus disgraced. 



532 EBNST ECKSTEIN 

But Rumpf did not hear. He had crossed the entry, and 
was now hastening down the stairs to escape victorious. As 
he passed the janitor's door a bright idea struck him. 

He put his eye to the keyhole. Quaddler stood on the 
ladder, Avith his back to the door, and was endeavoring to stick 
a heavily pasted strip of paper to the wall. William Rumpf 
rang the bell and called into the room in the most beautiful 
Heinzerling accent which he could command : 

" I am gawing now, Quaddler. Look a-a-fter that Roampf . 
The creature a-a-cts as if he were insane. He is bawld enoof 
to continue with his foolery. Remain on the la-a-dder. I 
wished awnly to say that yo' should not awpen the door for 
him. The boy would be in a pawsition to awverpower yo', 
and — in short — escape. Do yo' hear, Quaddler?" 

" It will be as you command. Professor. Excuse me, I am 
up here — " 

" Remain where yo' a-a-re, and prawceed with yoar paper- 
hanging. Good-by ! " 

"Your obedient servant. Sir." 

William Rumpf climbed the stairs once again, and pro- 
ceeded to the region of the cell. Samuel Heinzerling raged 
fearfully. Now he appeared to discover the bell ; for at the 
same moment in which Rumpf secreted himself behind a large 
wardrobe belonging to the janitor's family, there arose an 
angry ringing, piercing and shrill as a small company of 
fiends. 

" Help ! " groaned the pedagogue. " Help ! Quaddler, I 
will deprive you of office, and of bread, if yo' do not come oop 
here immediately. Help ! Fire ! Fire I Moorder ! Help ! " 

The janitor, summoned by the ringin.g of the bell, left his 
work and appeared in the entry to the cell. The mischievous 
Senior crouched closer in his hiding-place. Samuel Heinzer- 
ling sat exhausted on the bench. His bosom heaved. His 
nostrils worked like a pair of bellows. 

"Mr. Rumpf," said Quaddler, as he pounded on the cell door 
in a warning way, "I have taken note of this." 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 533 

" Thank God ! It is yo', Quaddler ! This miserable chooii 
has locked me in. It is outrageous ! " 

"• I tell you that this joking ill becomes you. I take especial 
notice that you call the Professor a miserable churl ! " 

"Boot, Quaddler, a-a-re yo' crazy?" exclaimed Samuel in 
a tone of highest indignation. " I would say before the ha-a-ng- 
man that Roampf,* the miserable fellow, has imprisoned me, as 
I ca-a-lled to see him and appeal to his conscience. Dawn't 
sta-a-nd on ceremony ; awpen ! " 

"You must consider me very stupid, Mr. Rumpf. The 
Professor has just talked with me, and ordered me particularly 
not to let you out under any circumstances." 

" Quaddler, I threaten you with the guard-house, on the 
ground of false eemprisonment ! " 

" Listen, if I may be allowed to make an observation ; this 
eternal mimicking of the Professor is really childish. No 
offense meant ! It is true the Professor speaks a little through 
liis nose. But such buffoonery as your twaddle will not pass 
for the Professor very long. And now I tell you, for the last 
time, to be quiet and behave yourself properly." 

" Boot, I repeat to yo', the shameless, ill-intentioned ra-a-s- 
cal toorned the key on me, before I knew what he was about. 
Quaddler ! Creature ! Donkey ! Yo' moost recognize me ! 
Awpen the door ! " 

"What? You call me a donkey? You call me a creature? 
Yes ; do you know one thing ? It's a question which of us is 
the bigger donkey. What next? A great young stripling 
calls a respectable old man a donkey. You are a donkey your- 
self ; do you hear ? Wait a little — " 

" Yo' a-a-re a donkey a-a-nd an ox," groaned Samuel de- 
spondentl3^ "Will you not awpen? " 

"I cannot think of it." 

" Good ! Vairy good ! I remain in the lock-oop ! Do yo' 
hear, Quaddler? I remain in the lock-oop ! " 

" I shall be glad when you come to your reason. But let me 
alone. I have more to do than to listen to your buffoonery ! " 



584 EBN8T ECKSTEIN 

" Quaddler," said Samuel more forcibly, " I will sit quiet 
hour a-a-f ter hour — hour a-a-f ter hour, I say ! I will bear 
this cryiug evil like an inexperienced child. Do you hear, 
Quaddler?" 

" I am going now ; busy yourself with something." 

" Great Caesar ! My reason deceives me. A-a-m I really 
m-a-d ? Creature ! Look through the key-hole once, and yo' 
will see — " 

" Yes ! So you can blow into my eyes ! Hardly ! " 

" We-e-U then, gaw to the Dickens ! The gods strive in vain 
with stupidity. Boot if I woonce koom out — if I woonce koom 
out, I will give it to yo' ! Yo' will naw longer be ja-a-nitox." 

Quaddler proceeded angrily down the stairs. This Rumpf 
was a marvel of impertinence. He had called him a donkey ! 
Thunder and lightning I Since Mrs. Katrina Quaddler had 
periodically blessed him, the like had not happened. 

Yes, yes, these Seniors I Meanwhile, Samuel Heinzerling 
measured great steps in his cell. 

His whole appearance resembled that of an African lion, 
which human skill is able to confine in a cage without being 
able to crush the nobility and pride of his wild nature. With 
his hands behind his back, his head with its gray mane inclined 
dejectedly toward his right shoulder, his lips compressed — so 
he wandered up and down, up and down, cherishing in his 
bosom the most misanthropic thoughts. 

Presently a broad smile spread over his countenance. 

" Boot yet it is comical," he uttered to himself. " Indeed ! 
If I were not saw immediately concerned, I might find it vairy 
amusing — " 

He remained standing — 

" Boot doos this being out-witted really redound to my dis- 
grace ? Prove it, Samuel ! Ha-a-s not a renowned king him- 
self held the ladder for a thief who would steal his watch ? 
Was not Prince Bismarck himself locked in by a wicked and 
intriguing ha-a-nd ? Besides, not to mention hoondreds of 
other cases ! A-a-nd yet universal history treats this king 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 535 

with great respect, a-a-nd Prince Bismarck pa-a-sses for the 
greatest diplomat in Europe, the same as before. Naw, naw, 
Sa-a-muel ! Yoar reputation as pedagogue, as citizen, as coolti- 
vated schohxr doos not soof er in the least from this painful situa- 
tion ! Calm yourself, Sa-a-muel." 

He continued his promenade with calmer voice. But pres- 
ently he broke out anew. 

" Boot my Seniors ! " he stammered, turning pale. " If my 
Seniors learn that I have been in the lock-oop ! Oonbearable 
thought ! My authority would be gone for all time ! They 
moost find it out ! O, ye Gods ! Why ha-a-ve ye doon this 
to me ! " 

" Professor," whispered a well-known voice at the cell door. 
"You are not disgraced. Your authority stands in full 
force — " 

" Roampf ! " stammered Samuel. " Yo' shameless, conscience- 
less creature ! Awpen ! Immediately ! Consider yoar ears as 
morally boxed ! You are expelled in a threefold ma-a-nner." 

"Professor, I come to rescue you. Do not berate me." 

"To rescue? Wha-a-t impudence ! Awpen, or I will — " 

" Will you listen to me quietly. Professor ? I assure you all 
will come out right." 

Samuel reflected. 

" Good ! " he said, at length. " I will condescend — Speak ! " 

" See here ! I wanted only to show you that my art is not 
altogether without practical application. Excuse me if to do 
this I apparently had to lay aside the high respect and honor 
which it has always been my pleasure to render you." 

" Yo' are a sca-a-mp, Roampf ! " 

"How would it be if you were to remit the confinement 
in the lock-up, take back the threat of expulsion, and allow 
me to preserve the strictest silence concerning all these occur- 
rences ! " 

" Tha-a-t will not do. Yo' moost endure yoar poonishment ! " 

"Is that so? Well, good-by. Professor. Don't ring the bell 
too much ! " 



536 ERNST ECKSTEIN 

" Roampf I Do yo' hear ? I have something to say to yo' ! " 

"Indeed!" 

" Yo' are in many respects an exceptional character. I will 
make an exception. Awpen the door." 

" Do you remit the lock-up punishment? " 

"Yes." 

" Will you expel me ? " 

" The Dickens ! Naw ! " 

" Give me your word of honor." 

" Roampf, how dare yo' ! " 

"Your word of honor, Professor." 

"We-e-U, yo' ha-a-ve it." 

"Jupiter to witness." 

"What?" 

"I call. the gods to witness it." 

" Awpen ! " 

" Immediately, Professor. You will not pursue me further? " 

" Naw, naw, naw. Will yo' let me out? " 

" You grant me full pardon? " 

" Yes, oonder woon condition, — tha-a-t yo' do not relate to 
anywoon how ba-a-dly yo' have behaved. I have already said 
I consider yo' an exceptional cha-a-racter, Roampf." 

" I thank you for your good opinion ; also my word of Jionor 
that, so long as you are Principal of the Gymnasium and 
instructor of the Senior class, no derogatory word shall escape 
my lips." 

Thereupon he opened the door. 

As Uhland's king out of the tower, so walked Samuel Hein- 
zerling into the free air. He drew a deep breath. Then he 
passed his right hand over his forehead, as if thinking of 
something. 

"Roampf I " he said, "I oondersta-a-nd a jawk — boot yo' will 
please not mimic me any more — yo' make the thing so real ! " 

"Your wish is my command." 

" Good ! Now let oos gaw down. It is not yet three 
quarters. You can still take part in the recitation." 



THE VISIT TO THE CELL 537 

"But would they not be surprised, Professor? Everyone 
knows that you have sentenced me to three days in the 
lock-up — " 

" We-e-11, I will gaw with yo'." 

So they hastened down the stairs. 

"Quaddler," called the Professor into the basement. The 
janitor appeared at the lower landing and inquired what was 
wanted. 

"On va-a-rious grounds, I have released Roampf from his 
three days' imprisonment," said Samuel. 

" Ah ! You returned on that account ? Hem ! Yes, but — 
excuse me. Professor, — Mr. Rumpf was not at all quiet in his 
cell. No offense, but he scolded like a sparrow — " 

" Let it gaw, Quaddler ! I will for this time, for very excep- 
tional reasons, soobstitute grace for justice. Yo' can take care 
of the cell key." 

Quaddler shook his head. 

" We-e-11," said Samuel, " now koom with me to the Seniors' 
Hall, Roampf." 

They walked across the corridor to the schoolroom. The 
Professor knocked. 

" Professor Klufenbrecher," he said in the softest accents of 
which he was capable, "I bring Roampf ba-a-ck. Knebel 
(Permit me, Professor Klufenbrecher), write in the Register : 
' In consideration of his oopright and repentant condooct, Senior 
Roampf 's poonishment inflicted to-day, consisting of three days' 
confinement in the lock-oop, is hereby ca-a-nceled." And now. 
Professor Klufenbrecher, we will not distoorb yo' further. 
Ha-a-ve yo' it written, Knebel? — "is hereby ca-a-nceled." 

"Will you not be seated. Professor?" asked the polite 
mathematician. 

" I tha-a-nk yo' kindly ; I have sa-a-t enoof for to-day. 
Roampf, I trust yo' will keep yoar promise of reform mawst 
conscientiously. Good day. Professor." 

So saying, he disappeared in the labyrinth of passages of 
the school building. 



538 ERNST ECKSTEIN 

William Rumpf kej)t his promise most conscientiously. He 
now mimicked .only the other teachers. Samuel Heinzerling's 
personality was to him sacred and unapproachable. 

Profound silence hung over the whole matter till, in the fall 
of the year, the same Principal, after much entreaty, consented 
to be placed on the retired list. The sportive Senior class then 
learned, for the first time, the history of the unexpected 
pardon. 

Rumpf 's " oopright and repentant condooct " was a source of 
endless mirth to the villagers, and among those Avho enjoyed 
the joke most was Professor Samuel Heinzerling, author of 
the "Latin Grammar," etc. 

May it be granted to him often to relate over the foaming 
glass how he visited the unconscionable William Rumpf in 
the lock-up. Rumpf, for his part, will never forget his experi- 
ence under the jurisdiction of Quaddler, should he become so 
old as to be childish. 



OUTLINES AND NOTES OF READING CIRCLE 

WORK 



FIEST MONTH, pp. 5-42 



INTRODUCTION 

1. The value of humor and satire as correctives of faults in 
society ; their value in the educational world. 2. The rank of 
the authors comprised in this volume. 

FRANCOIS RABELAIS 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. The influence of Don Quixote. 2. The great 
service rendered by Rabelais to mankind. 3. Why his work 
is, as a whole, unsuited to the general reader; how it must be 
judged. 4. The career of Rabelais ; his rank in literature. 
5. Distinction between coarseness and pruriency ; which is the 
more harmful? 6. How the coarseness of Rabelais has subserved 
a valuable end. 7. Van Laun's characterization of Rabelais ; 
Fortier's criticism upon Rabelais' system of education. 8. Tubal 
Holofernes as a teacher. 9. The results of Eudemon's early 
training. 10. Ponocrates as a teacher. 11. How Gargantua 
passed the day. 12. How Gargantua became acquainted with 
the classic authors. 13. Gargantua's physical training ; its 

539 



540 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 

thoroughness. 14. Gargantua's study of botany; of music. 
15. Gargantua's dinner; his devotions. 16. Gargantua's rainy 
days, and how he spent them ; his acquaintance with the 
details of the industries of his time; his monthly holiday, and 
its diversions. 17. Gargantua's letter to Pantagruel ; the in- 
creased responsibilities which come with improved opportunities. 
18. Gargantua's impracticable scheme of language study; his 
excellent advice as to morals. 19. The Limousin student, and 
his pedantry; the influence of this satire on the purity of 
modern languages. 

Pedagogical. — 1. General criticism upon the scheme of edu- 
cation advanced by Rabelais. 2. The beneficent influence of 
Rabelais as the "morning star of the educational reforma- 
tion." 3. The alphabetic method of teaching young pupils. 
4. The religious and moral training of children. 5. The physi- 
cal training of youths. 6. What constitutes the most desirable 
education in the classics? 7. The value to pupils of an ac- 
quaintance with arts and industries. 8. Purity in the use of 
language. 

NOTES 

Grand, noble, colossal, but at the same time (as our readers need hardly 
be cautioned) totally impracticable and Utopian, Milton's plan of education 
embraces, like that of* ancient Greeks (as may be collected from the half 
fabulous accounts of the antique philosophers and historians), the physical, 
no less than the moral and intellectual development of the human powers. 
The bodies of the English youths were to be trained in all kinds of corporal 
and gymnastic exercises, while their minds were to be occupied with the 
whole cycle of human knowledge, in which the arts (particularly music) 
were by no means to be neglected. The whole scheme reminds the reader 
of nothing so strongly as of the half-burlesque description of the education 
of Pantagruel in the immortal romance of Rabelais. 

— E. B. Shaw. 

I call, therefore, a complete, generous education, that which fits a man to 
perform justly, skillfully, and magnanimously all the offices, both public 
and private, of peace and of war. 

— John Milton. 



FBANgOIS BABELAIS 541 

John Locke's Essay on Education contains, as Hallam says, more good 
sense oii the subject than can be found in any preceding writer. He con- 
templates the education of the whole man — intellectual, moral, and physi- 
cal. Useful and customary accomplishments, as well as book-learning, are 
required by his system. It is held that he overstates the influence of habit 
in molding character, and also that his idea of discipline is harsh and 
severe. . . . 

Education, in its widest sense, is a general expression that comprehends 
all the influences which operate on the human being, stimulating his facul- 
ties to action, forming his habits, molding his character, and making him 
what he is. Though so powerfully affected by these influences, he may be 
entirely unconscious of them. They are to him as the wind, which bloweth 
where it listeth ; but he knows not whence it cometh nor whither it goeth. 
They are not, however, less real on this account. 

The circumstances by which he is surrounded — the climate, the natural 
scenery, the air he breathes, the food he eats, the moral tone of the family 
life, that of the community — all have a share in converting the raw mate- 
rial of human nature, either into healthy, intelligent, moral, and religious 
man or, on the contrary, in converting it into an embodiment of weakness, 
stupidity, wickedness, and misery. Thus external influences, automatically 
acting upon a neutral nature, produce, each after its kind, the most opposite 
results. 

In this sense the poor little gamin of our streets, who defiles the air with 
his blasphemies, whose thoughts are of the dirt, dirty, who picks our pockets 
with a clear conscience, has been duly educated by the impure atmosphere, 
the squalid misery, the sad examples of act and speech presented to him in 
his daily life, to be the outcast that he is. Such instances show the won- 
drous power of the education of circumstances. . . . 

But education is conscious, as well as unconscious. Some cause or other 
suggests the desire for improvement. The teacher appears in the field, and 
civilization begins its career. The civilization which we contrast with bar- 
barism is simply the result of that action of mind on mind which carries 
forward the teaching of nature, — in other words, of what we call educa- 
tion. Where there is no specific conscious education, there is no civilization. 
Where education is fully appreciated, the result is high civilization ; and 
generally, as education advances, civilization advances in proportion, and 
thus affords a measure of its influence. It follows, then, that all the civili- 
zation that exists is ultimately due to the educator, including, of course, the 
educator in religion . 

Education, then, as we may now more specifically define it, is the train- 
ing carried on consciously and continuously by the educator, and its object 
is to convert desultory and accidental force into organized action, and its 
ultimate end is to make the child operated on by it capable of becoming a 



542 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 

healthy, intelligent, moral, and religious man ; or it may be described as 
the systematization of all the influences which the science of education 
recognizes as capable of being employed by one human being to develop, direct, 
and maintain vital force in another, with a view to the formation of habits. 
This conception of the end of education defines the function of the edu- 
cator. He has to direct forces already existing to a definite object, and in 
proportion as his direction is wise and judicious will the object be secured. 

— Joseph Payne. 

To prepare us for complete living is the function which education has to 
discharge, and the only rational mode of judging of an educational course is 
to judge in what degree it discharges such function. We must know in 
what way to treat the body ; in what way to treat the mind ; in what way 
to manage our affairs ; in what way to bring up a family ; in what way to 
behave as a citizen ; in what way to utilize those sources of happiness which 
nature supplies — how to use all our faculties to the greatest advantage of 
ourselves and others. ... 

Happily that all-important part of education which goes to secure direct 
self-preservation is in gTeat part already provided for. Too momentous to 
be left to our own blundering, nature takes it into her own hands. 

— Herbert Spencer. 

The practical farmer, the ingenious mechanic, the talented artist, the 
upright legislator or judge, the accomplished teacher, are only modifications 
or varieties of the original man. The man is the trunk ; the occupations 
and professions are only different qualities of the fruit it yields. The devel- 
opment of the common nature, the cultivation of the germs of intelligsnce, 
uprightness, benevolence, truth, that belongs to all — these are the principle, 
the aim, the end ; while special preparation for the field or the shop, for the 
forum or the desk, for the land or the sea, are but incidents. 

— Horace Mann. 

Under the old system, a young man's education was incomplete if he had 
not a passing acquaintance with all the great branches of human knowledge. 
These great branches were so limited in number, and so imperfectly devel- 
oped, that fair opportunity was given the student of acquainting himself in 
a general way with the complete range of subjects ; that is, in addition to 
his long and deep draughts at the classical and mathematical fountains, 
which, as I have said, were good chiefly because they were long and deep, 
he could take a short sip at all the lesser springs of knowledge that were 
flowing within his reach. So that, under the old education, the holder of 
an academic degree might, perhaps, have been justly regarded as deficient 
if he had not at least a cursory knowledge of all the recognized branches of 
human learning. 



FRANgOIS RABELAIS 543 

But the case is quite different now. It is impossible for the under- 
graduate to make the complete circuit of even the mountain peaks of human 
knowledge, much more to dwell long enough on the mountain sides and 
among the inviting valleys to make himself fairly acquainted with the infi- 
nite variety of landscapes. 

Twenty-five years ago it would have been a reflection, and perhaps justly 
so, upon a college curriculum that would have made it possible for a student 
to take the academic degree without a general knowledge of astrononiy, 
chemistry, physics, botany, geology, and zoology. Is it so now? Twenty- 
five years ago a general knowledge of astronomy meant a very definite 
thing, and could be obtained in a term's work. But what do you mean 
to-day by a general knowledge of astronomy? I can bring together a large 
library on a single phase of astronomy, say sun spots, that a generation ago 
was tossed off on one short page or in one unpretentious paragraph, besides 
book after book on other phases, say the physical constitution of the stars, 
that were then unknown and unimagined. What, then, do you mean by a 
general knowledge of astronomy ? 

The science has grown so rapidly within the past generation that our most 
eminent astronomers themselves will scarcely claim a very thorough general 
knowledge of the subject. It is doubtful whether Professor Young himself 
can name all the constellations at sight; whether Professor Langley can 
bound the lunar mountains ; whether Professor Newcomb can draw a map 
of the canals of Mars, or whether Professor Holden knows the name of the 
latest asteroid. Yet these are masters in astronomy, and in some lines are 
acknowledged authorities on both sides of the ocean. A general knowledge 
of astronomy to-day means something more than it meant a generation ago. 

If, therefore, a diploma be incomplete when it does not represent astron- 
omy, what particular phase, pray, must it represent? Shall it be sun spots? 
What, then, shall become of Jupiter's moons? Shall it be double stars? 
What, then, of meteors? There are a score of ^'reat astronomical lines 
which one must follow, if he would have only a fair general knowledge, on 
each of which he could profitably spend a semester's work. Which shaU it 
be ? And if any one in particular, has not each of the remaining nineteen 
an equal right to be represented in a diploma, if you demand that the 
twentieth shall be there ? 

What is thus true of astronomy is still more forcibly true in some of the 
other great lines of science. Some of these sciences have been born within 
the last generation, and have sprung to such importance as to demand large 
libraries, if we would only keep abreast the progress in almost any one of 
the many subordinate branches. The lines of pursuit are so numerous that 
it is not only impossible to follow them all, but it would be unwise to 
attempt to follow all the leading highways. 

— J. P. D. JOHX. 



544 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 

ROGER ASCHAM 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. Queen Elizabeth and Lady Jane Grey as 
pupils. 2. Ascham's public services ; his influence on the 
English language ; his famous books. 3. English spelling in 
Ascham's day ; the most general changes which it has since 
undergone. 4. Ascham's dinner at Windsor Castle, and the 
subject discussed on that occasion. 5. Sir William Peter's 
view of school government ; Ascham's view of the subject. 
6. Ascham's interview with Lady Jane Grey ; her account of 
her home training. 7. Ascham's inductive method of teaching 
the classics ; its success in the case of John Whitney ; its 
success in the training of Queen Elizabeth. 8. Inductive study 
of the classics at the present time. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The effects of harsh discipline in the 
school. 2. The inductive method of teaching languages. 
3. The pleasure which an acquaintance with the classics affords 
to the student. 

NOTES 

A sunny, cheerful, happy spirit wins children's hearts more surely than 
words ; and, besides, such a spirit is sure to awaken cheerfulness and happi- 
ness in return. The writer once visited a primary school in charge of 
a cheerful, sunny teacher. A pupil made a mistake in reading, and the 
teacher endeavored to lead the child to see and correct it. Every word was 
accompanied with a sweet, assuring smile, which not only put the child at 
ease, but lit up her face with happy confidence. 

On leaving the room, a friend said that he would give five doUars for a 
picture of that teacher and pupil at the moment of the latter's success ; 
that he would like to show it to several teachers of his acquaintance, who 
meet every mistake with a frown. How many teachers have the habit of 
talking to their pupils in a high-keyed, sharp, and rasping voice ! We 
never enter a schoolroom where such a teacher is " at his best " without 
feeling an impulse to make a hasty departure. 

— Emerson E. White. 



EOGER ASCHAM 545 

Some evidently think that little more than the rules of syntax ought 
to be learned from Latin text, and that these rules of syntax can best be 
learned from detached sentences from different authors. Others, on the 
contrary, believe that syntax, forms, vocabulary, word-order, and, in fact, 
substantially all the leading facts and rules of the language should be 
learned from the language itself, aud that the pupil's observation during 
the first year should be directed to one connected classical work. This 
may be called the stricter inductive method upon connected text. I am a 
firm believer in the latter method. 

In applying it, I have used Caesar as the connected text, because he is the 
first Latin author read by probably nine tenths of our American beginners, 
because he is thoroughly classical, and because of his unity and simplicity, 
which will be fully brought out later in this paper. As a matter of fact, 
all om* introductory books are professedly preparatory to Caesar. The pupil 
takes up Caesar on his first day of study, but deals with the text in a manner 
essentially different from that adopted by one who has studied for a year. 

First, but a small portion of the text — only a line or two a day for the 
first few days — is assigned at a time, while ample practice is secured by 
Latin-English and English-Latin exercises based upon this text. 

Second, the teacher in advance goes over the text to be assigned for the 
next day before his whole class. He invites observation on particular 
points, insists on the application to the new material of all facts previously 
learned, and draws out of the class, or himself states, all essential new facts 
illustrated in the new material. As a rule, the pupil is required to learn no 
ending and no rule until they have been illustrated in the text. 

Third, the pupil is required to go over the same text again and again by 
pronouncing it with only an English word-for-word translation (or rather 
parallel) before the eye. 

After experience with the non-inductive, the partial-inductive, and the 
stricter-inductive methods, I find that the latter has the following advantages 
over one or both of the others : 

First, it is more consistent to teach forms, syntax, and vocabulary induc- 
tively than it is to teach only the syntax in this way, while forms and 
vocabulary are learned, not from the text, but from artificial tabulations. 
The habit of independent observation cannot be formed while the pupil is 
neglecting it in the larger half of his work. 

A second advantage arises from unity of subject-matter. This subject- 
matter, if we take Caesar, is the product of one author, conspicuous for his 
simplicity and definiteness, writing upon one subject. The pupil needs to 
get accustomed to but one set of peculiarities, not several, as he has to do 
if he passes from a fragment of one author to a fragment of another. After 
getting accustomed to his author and the subject, he can anticipate what 
is coming and so translate rapidly. 

SCH. IN COM. — 35 



546 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF READING CIRCLE WORK 

The vocabulary consists of terras which are related in meaning, and so 
one term helps to recall another. Most important of all, the unity of subject- 
matter provides for a proper recurrence of words, and the pupil learns the 
common expressions, not so much by the repetition of vocabularies of isolated 
words as by the actual work of translating new matter. 

In this way the advance takes care of the review, and the whole desirable 
vocabulary is kept going. Those who have noted how often, in our first-year 
books, desirable words introduced in one lesson are not repeated for many 
lessons, if at all, will appreciate this advantage of connected text. It is 
simply impossible for any author to write upon different subjects a series 
of disconnected sentences which will have anything like the unity of vocabu- 
lary which any author unconsciously uses in writing upon one subject. 

Closely connected with this advantage of unity is the further advantage 
which comes from the limited vocabulary and the limited variety of form 
and syntax which Caesar uses. Let me speak first of the vocabulary. Many 
teachers do not realize how limited the vocabulary of Csesar is. A list 
published in Latin some years ago shows that there are only 179 words which 
occur more than 100 times in Caesar's writings. There are less than 300 words 
which occur five or more times in the First Book of the Gallic AVar, and in 
the fifteen pages of the Helvetian War there are only 950 words altogether. 
Even in the first chapter of the First Book, while there are 181 forms, there 
are only 98 different words, or 54 per cent of the number of forms. In the 
second chapter the percentage of new words to the whole number of forms 
is 47, in the third, 37, in the fourth, 36. In the fifteenth the percentage has 
dropped to 24, in the sixteenth to 22, and before the close of the Helvetian 
War, to 14. That is to say, a pupil who reads properly two pages of Caesar 
will need to look up only one word in three ; and one who reads fifteen 
pages, only one word in seven. 

The method of study which I have outlined depends for its success, like 
every other, upon the thoroughness with which it is carried out. It requires 
hard work on the part of pupil and teacher. But it applies this work where 
it will do the most good, incites the pupil's interest by making him a dis- 
coverer, and so makes him willing to work hard. 

No man can reach the highest success in teaching first-year Latin who 
does not appreciate his privilege in being permitted to do it. It is a high 
privilege to lead a pupil into his first language besides his own, to see the 
dawn of new ideas which this language brings and the increase of mental 
power which it engenders. The dilfficulty of the subject puts both teacher 
and pupil on their mettle, compels the teacher to think clearly, to explain 
simply, and to invent devices to aid his teaching; it develops in the pupil 
moral force and steady, independent effort, and in both the good teacher and 
the good pupil it establishes a sympathy and respect which the lapse of 
years will not destioj. - -Isaac B. Burgess. 



WILLIAM SHAK8PEARE 547 



SECOND MONTH, pp. 45-126 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 
STUDIES 

GeneraL — 1. Our limited knowledge of the man Shaks- 
peare. 2. Reasons for the obscurity of his history. 3. The 
known facts of his life. 4. The universality of his genius. 
5. Instances of his lack of scholarship. 6. The appropriateness 
of Shakspeare's characters to their real or supposed time and 
country. 7. The completeness of his characters. 8. The dis- 
similarity and personal identity of his characters. 9. Illustra- 
tions of the change in the meanings of words since Shakspeare's 
time. 10. Shakspearian critics among German, English, and 
American writers. 11. Shakspeare's sole educational drama ; 
its characterization by Dowden. 12. Academies, old and new ; 
the plan of King Ferdinand. 13. Description of various 
members of the Academy — Longaville, Dumain, and Biron. 

14. The rules of the Academy, and how they were regarded. 

15. Pessimistic views of study. 16. Armado, and his accom- 
plishments. 17. Moth's casuistry. 18. Costard's inductive ac- 
quisition of new words. 19. How should suitor be pronounced ? 
20. Holof ernes, the schoolmaster; his pedantry; literary trifling 
in Elizabeth's time. 21. How the rules of the Academy were 
broken. 22. Biron's reformation of his speech. 23. The exhi- 
bition at the Academy ; the " baiting " of an unpopular school- 
master. 24. Biron's penance. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The essential error in the plan of King 
Ferdinand. 2. The study of the characters of students. 
3. The true end of study. 4. The real dignity of scholarship. 
5. Dangers of inductive study. 6. The true sounds of the 
letter u. 7. The pedantry of old-time schoolmasters. 8. The 
unpopular schoolmaster. 



548 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF READING CIRCLE WORK 



NOTES 

There goes in the world a notion that the scholar should be a recluse, a 
valetudinarian, — as unfit for any handiwork or public labor as a penknife 
for an ax. The so-called " practical men " sneer at speculative men, as if, 
because they speculate or see, they could do nothing. 

I have heard it said that the clergy — who are always, more universally 
than any other class, the scholars of their day — are addressed as women ; 
that the rough, spontaneous conversation of men they do not hear, but only 
a mincing and diluted speech. They are often virtually disfranchised ; and, 
indeed, there are advocates for their celibacy. As far as this is true of the 
studious classes, it is not just and wise. 

Action is with the scholar subordinate, but it is essential. Without it, 
he is not yet man. Without it, thought can never ripen into truth. Whilst 
the world hangs before the eye as a cloud of beauty, we cannot even see its 
beauty. Inaction is cowardice, but there can be no scholar without the 
heroic mind. The preamble of thought, the transition through which it 
passes from the unconscious to the conscious, is action. 

The world, — this shadow of the soul, or other me, lies wide around. Its 
attractions are the keys which unlock my thoughts and make me acquainted 
with myself. I run eagerly into this resounding tumult. I grasp the hands 
of those next me, and take my place in the ring to suffer and to work, 
taught by an instinct, that so shall the dumb abyss be vocal with speech. 

So much only of life as I know by experience, so much of the wilderness 
have I vanquished and planted, or so far have I extended my being, my 
dominion. I do not see how any man can afford, for the sake of his nerves 
and his nap, to spare any action in which he can partake. It is pearls 
and rubies to his discourse. Drudgery, calamity, exasperation, want, are 
instructors in eloquence and wisdom. The true scholar grudges every 
opportunity of action passed by, as a loss of power. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

I do not think the greatest things have been done for the world by its 
bookmen. Education is not the chips of arithmetic and grammar, — nouns, 
verbs, and the multiplication table ; neither is it that last year's almanac of 
dates or series of lies agreed upon, which we so often mistake for history. 
Education is not Greek and Latin and the air-pump. Still, I rate at its 
full value the training we get in these walls. Though what we actually 
carry away is little enough, we do get some training of our powers, as the 
gymnast or the fencer does of his muscles; we go hence also with such 
general knowledge of what mankind has agreed to consider proved and 
settled, that we know where to reach for the weapon when we need it. 

— Wendell Phillips. 



FJ^NELON 549 

FENELON 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. A world-famous book, the TSlSmaque ; its 
sentimental interest ; its influence upon methods of teaching 
geography and history ; its suggestiveness as to moral training ; 
its subject. 2. The career of F^nelon ; his royal pupil. 3. The 
success of his teaching; the loss to the world in the death 
of his pupil. 4. Magill's characterization of Fenelon as an 
author. 5. Principal personages of the Telemaque — Mentor, 
Tdl^maque, Calypso ; the scene of the story. 6. Teldmaque's 
shipwreck ; Calypso's grotto ; her infatuation for the youth. 
7. The entertainment of the Greek youth. 8. Mentor's cau- 
tions. 9. The situation in Crete, on the arrival of Telemaque 
and Mentor. 10. The test of wrestling. 11. The test of the 
cestus. 12. The chariot race. 13. Telemaque's examination: 
What man is most free ? Who is most unhappy ? Which is to 
be preferred — a ruler great in war, or one great in peace ? 
14. Telemaque's temptation at Crete ; his renunciation of the 
throne. 15. Telemaque's temptation at Ogygia; his escape 
from the island. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The use of narratives in teaching geogra- 
phy. 2. The use of narratives in teaching history. 3. The 
use of narratives in teaching morals. 4. A true estimate of 
success in life. 

NOTES 

It is as impossible to draw the line between mental and moral education, 
to tell where one leaves off and the other begins, in the work of the teacher, 
as it is to determine which is mind and which is matter in the brain of the 
pupil. Every exercise of the schoolroom, every pai'ticle of teaching, involves 
on the part of the child one or more of the three divisions of a moral action, 
— viz. comprehending, choosing, doing, — and is therefore generating power. 
This power may be used either morally or immorally, and the greater the 
amount generated the greater the responsibility of the teacher, for the 
clearer the comprehension (if divorced from right choice and moral action), 
the greater the capacity for wrongdoing. 



550 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WOBK 

The teacher, then, is under at least the same obligation to train the pupil 
to love the good and do the right, that she is to teach him to think clearly 
and work well. In order to do this, the intellect of the little one must be 
developed till he can see his duty plainly, and the will exercised till he can 
do it cheerfully and unhesitatingly. This means persistent training in self- 
dependence and self-control, and an education in all the virtues by means 
of their unremitting exercise. In this, as in every other thing, the child 
can only learn to do by doing, and all reform must be a matter of growth. 

— Lelia E. Patridge. 

The relation of geography to history is that of the stage to the plays 
acted upon it. The study of geography is the study of the earth as a stage 
on which man acts. The study of history is the study of man's actions on 
this stage. In studying the stage we may observe its size, its formation or 
structure, embracing its surroundings, adaptations, and adornments. 

— Jonathan Piper. 

Geography, the twin sister of history, has, as yet, had but a cold recep- 
tion in the historical family ; only about one half the schools make the 
study what it should be — an essential and integral part of the study of 
every period. Our recommendation on this subject is set forth in Resolu- 
tion 25, "That the study of history should be constantly associated with 
the study of topography and political geography, and should be supple- 
mented by the study of historical and commercial geography, and the draw- 
ing of historical maps." 

This resolution suggests three directions in which the study of geography 
may be made a helpful adjunct to history : 

In the first place, from the beginning of geographical study, attention 
should be paid to the physical outline of each country, not only with refer- 
ence to its productions, but to the movement of races, the progress of settle- 
ment, and establishment of centers of population. For instance, it should 
be shown how the commercial greatness of Chicago and of New York 
depends on a simple fact in American physical geography — their position at 
the head and foot of a system of water communication ; the indented coast 
of Xew England should suggest how thrifty little seaports came to be estab- 
lished there; the relation of the Vosges Mountains to the Alps is a guide to 
the successive migrations of nations across Europe. From the beginning, 
the teacher should attempt to connect physical geography with the present 
political condition of the world; and, in like manner, the study of political 
geography should constantly bring in the physical features. 

The second geographical method consists in putting before pupils, for 
constant use, wall-maps and historical atlases. So little is this necessity 
understood, that in no civilized country are good and cheap maps so rare ; 
and our school atlases are notoriously inferior to those of France and Ger- 



F^NELON 551 

many. In the use of maps, good or bad, there is an opportunity for the use 
of judgment ; a mere reference to a place on a map on which the surface 
shows no physical relief does little to impress its position. For instance, the 
important geographical fact about the city of Rome is not that it lay in 
Latium, rather than in Etruria, but that it could control the trade of the 
Tiber valley, and, at the same time, was so far inland as to be free from 
attacks of pirates. The reason for its growth once learned, the site will 
never be forgotten. An excellent system in class is for a pupil to follow the 
recitation, pointing out on the wall-map the places as they are mentioned by 
the reciter. 

A third and very efficient method of geographical training is the use of 
outline maps. "We buy outlines," says a teacher, "and strive to set forth 
upon them as many subjects as lend themselves to such modes of represen- 
tation. I should be at loss, without them, to make attractive the geography 
of Greece, with its multitude of new names so hard to the junior mind, the 
migrations, the different eras of colonization, etc. But with maps it becomes 
very pleasant work. Maps are also especially interesting in showing the 
development and decay of the Roman empire, and the rise and growth of 
modern nations. ... In every recitation in history every child has an open 
atlas upon his desk, and not only are all the places carefully looked up, but 
the effects of physical environments are constantly noted." . . . 

We urge that all stages and in all parts of the study of geography the 
teacher, rather than the text-book, should lead the class. A good text-book 
is necessary to furnish maps and other material of study, to secure concise- 
ness of definition, and to save time in study, after a proper introduction to 
its texts has been given by the teacher ; and a good text-book should give a 
better presentation of the subject than teachers can usually be expected to 
command. So, also, recitations based on text-books are indispensable in 
order to secure precision of understanding and of statement on the part of 
the scholars. But every stage of the subject should be naturally introduced 
and illustrated by the teacher, and the text-book should be kept in its proper 
place as an aid and not as a master, and mere lesson-hearing should never 
be allowed to replace actual teaching. . . . 

The habit of making use of geographical knowledge in all studies to 
which it is applicable, and the practice of constantly locating places on 
maps, should be encouraged. In all reading, especially the study of history, 
travels, explorations, and other treatises, including geographic descriptions, 
the places mentioned should always be carefully located. . . . 

Topical recitation and study should be used as freely as practicable, and 
the subject developed by comparison of observations, by discussions, and by 
readings fiom all sources available, and by the introduction of all kinds of 
illustration. 

— Report of the Committee of Ten. 



552 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 
JONATHAN SWIFT 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. The romance of Swift's life; his early years. 

2. Swift's political career, and its disappointments. 3. Stella 
and Vanessa, and their unhappy fate ; the mystery of Swift's 
life. 4. Swift's misanthropy ; his hatred for mankind, as mani- 
fested in Gulliver^ s Travels. 5. The flying island of Laputa ; 
the origin of its name. 6. The singular indirectness of its 
tailors and mechanics. 7. The causes of general anxiety among 
the Laputans ; their advances in astronomy ; their remarkable 
conception of the satellites of Mars. 8. The city of Lagado, 
and its population. 9. Lord Munodi, and his experience. 
10. The Academy at Lagado ; its numerous rooms ; its incep- 
tion. 11. Extracting sunbeams from cucumbers; the manu- 
facture of gunpowder from ice ; a new method of plowing ; the 
substitution of cobwebs for silk; other projects. 12. A new 
method of learning the sciences. 13. The proposed abolition 
of words. 14. The Doctor's governmental projects. 15. Gul- 
liver's account of the Tribnians. 

Pedagogical. — 1. Illusive etymologies. 2. Borrowing trouble. 

3. Ultra conservatism in education. 4. Mechanical teaching. 
5. Object teaching, and its proper limits. 6. Impracticable 
and useless schemes in education. 

NOTES 

Almost every man, in whatever vocation, has some hobby, some " one idea,''* 
which he pushes forward on all occasions, no matter what may be the conse- 
quences. It is not strange that it is often thus with the teacher. If the 
teacher has any independence of mind, any originality, he will, at some 
period in life, naturally incline to try some experiments in teaching. Partly 
on account of the novelty of the plan, and partly on account of the teacher's 
interest in the success of his own measure, he finds it works well in the class 
where it was first tried ; and he rejoices that he has made a discovery. 

Teaching now possesses a new interest for him, and he very likely be- 
comes enthusiastic. He applies his new measure to other classes, and loudly 



JONATHAN SWIFT 553 

recommends it to other teachers. For a time it succeeds, and it becomes 
his hobby. Whenever a stranger visits his school, he shows off his new 
measure. Whenever he attends a teachers' meeting, he describes it, and 
perhaps presents a class of his pupils to verify its excellence. 

He abandons his old and long-tried plans, and persists in the new one. 
By and by the novelty has worn away, and his pupils become dull under its 
operation, and reason suggests that a return to the former methods would 
be advisable. Still, because it is his invention, he persists. Others try the 
experiment. Some succeed; some fail. Some of them, by a public speech, 
commit themselves to it, and then persist in it to preserve their consistency. 
In this way a great many objectionable modes of teaching have gained cur- 
rency and still hold their sway in many of our schools. Let it be remem- 
bered that no one method of instruction comprises all the excellences and 
avoids all the defects of good teaching ; and that he is the wisest teacher 
w^ho introduces a judicious variety into his modes of instruction, profiting 
by the suggestions of others, but relying mainly upon his own careful obser- 
vation, eschewing all "patent methods," and never losing his common sense. 

Many teachers have some favorite branch of study, in which, because 
they excel, they take special delight. One man is a good mathematician, 
another is an expert accountant, a third a skillful grammarian. Now% the 
danger is, that the favorite branch of study may become the hobby, and that 
the other branches will be neglected. 

It is surely to the discredit of teachers that they are so readily " tossed 
to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the slight of 
men, and cunning craftiness." Growth or evolution is entirely consistent 
with moderation and stability. To know what we should grow into, we 
must trace our route into the future by the light of educational science ; and 
that there may be perfect continuity of grow^th, we must know the past and 
the present of education. 

We will gain sureness and stability in the formation of our opinions by 
recollecting that a course of practice that has had the long sanction of the 
wise and the good is likely to have a large measure of truth in it; and that 
" the suppression of every error is commonly followed by a temporary 
ascendency of the contrary one." {Spencer.) 

Every decade has its educational epidemic made possible by shallow 
thinking and a chronic discontent with things as they are. These spas- 
modic efforts at reform are the source of some good and much evil. They 
call attention to imperfections ; but, by a gross exaggeration of defects, they 
destroy public faith in what is good, and, by the show of false lights, betray 
the cause of substantial progress. " Progress," says the Dictionnaire de Peda- 
gogies "is not a force that acts spasmodically, but is a logical and graduated 
evolution, in which the idea of to-day is connected with that of yesterday, as 
the latter is to a still more remote past." —David P. Page. 



554 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WOBK 



THIRD MONTH, pp. 129-176 



ALEXANDER POPE 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. The precocity of Pope in his childhood. 2. His 
famous translations. 3. His other poems ; his style ; his rank 
as a poet. 4. Pope's Duneiad ; characteristics of the poem. 

5. The G-r eater Duneiad; its purpose ; its value to the cause 
of education. 6. Dulness, and her court. 7. The address 
of the goddess. 8. The representative of schoolmasters, and his 
address ; the exact reverse of Pestalozzian teaching. 9. The 
representative of the universities, and his address; educational 
trifles and triflers. 10. The goddess addresses the universities. 
11. The " black blockade " of university men. 12. A youth 
ruined by travel and the absence of all restraints ; his gracious 
reception by the goddess. 13. Dealers in spurious antiquities. 
14. The complaint of a flower specialist. 15. The reply of the 
butterfly specialist. 16. The goddess' address to the specialists. 
17. The representative of the Freethinkers. 18. The cup of 
Magus. 19. Degrees conferred by the goddess. 20. The god- 
dess' blessing. 21. The return of chaos. 

Pedagogical. — 1. An education- in words only. 2. The magni- 
fying of trifles in college education. 3. The " black blockade " 
of the universities. 4. The ruin of youths by the removal of all 
restraints. 5. The danger of narrowness incident to specialists. 

6. The great triumphs of our age in the study of the lower 
forms of life ; their value to mankind. 7. The abuse of college 
degrees. 

NOTES 

Words, which are the signs of things, must never be taught the child 
until he has grasped the idea of the thing signified. When an object has 
been submitted to his senses, he must be led to the consciousness of the 



ALEXANDER POPE 665 

impressions produced, and then must be taught the name of the object and 

of the qualities producing those impressions. Last of all, he must ascend 

to the definition of the object. 

•" — R. H. Quick. 

Personal experience necessitates the advancement of the learner's mind 
from the near and actual, with which he is in contact, and which he can 
deal with himself, to the more remote ; therefore, from the concrete to the 
abstract, from particulars to generals, from the known to the unknown. 
This is the method of elementary education; the opposite proceeding — 
the usual proceeding of our traditional teaching — leads the mind from the 
abstract to the concrete, from generals to particulars, from the unknown 
to the known. This latter is the scientific method — a method suited only to 
the advanced learner, who, it assumes, is already trained by the Elementary 
method. 

In learning by the Elementary method, we begin with individual things 

— facts or objects. From these we gain definite ideas, ideas naturally 

related to the condition of our powers or of our knowledge, as being the 

result of our own personal experience. Such knowledge, as the product of 

our own efforts, is ours, in a sense in which no knowledge of others can ever 

become ours; and, being ours, serves as the solid basis of the judgment and 

inductions that we are able to form, — the method is inductive because it 

begins with individual facts. 

— Joseph Payne. 

The popular education has been taxed with want of truth and nature. 
It was complained that an education to things was not given. We are 
students of words ; we are shut up in schools and colleges and recitation 
rooms for ten or fifteen years, and come out at last with a bag of wind, a 
memory of words, and do not know a thing. We cannot use our hands or 
our legs or our eyes or our arms. We do not know an edible root in the 
woods ; we cannot tell our course by the stars, nor the hour of day by the 
sun. It is well if we can swim and skate. We are afraid of a horse, of a 
cow, of a dog, of a snake, of a spider. 

The lessons of science should be experimental also. The sight of the 
planet through a telescope is worth all the course on astronomy ; the shock 
of the electric spark in the elbow outvalues all the theories ; the taste of 
the nitrous oxide, the firing of an artificial volcano, are better than volumes 
of chemistry. 

One of the traits of the new spirit is the inquisition it fixed on our 
scholastic devotion to the dead languages. The ancient languages, with 
great beauty of structure, contain wonderful remains of genius, which draw, 
and always will draw, certain like-minded men — Greek men and Roman 
men — in all countries to their study; but, by a wonderful drowsiness of 
usage, they had exacted the study of all men. , 



556 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 

Once (say two centuries ago), Latin and Greek had a strict relation to all 
the science and culture there was in Europe, and the mathematics had a 
momentary importance at some era of activity in physical science. These 
things became stereotyped as education, as the manner of men is. But the 
Good Spirit never cared for the colleges ; and though all men and boys 
were now drilled in Latin, Greek, and mathematics, it had quite left these 
shells high and dry on the beach, and was now creating and feeding other 
matters at other ends of the world. But in a hundred high schools and 
colleges this warfare against common sense still goes on. Four or six or 
ten years, the pupil is parsing Greek and Latin, and as soon as he leaves 
the University, as it is ludicrously called, he shuts those books for the last 
time. . . . 

It appears that some doubt is felt by good and wise men whether really 
the happiness and probity of men is increased by the culture of the mind in 
those disciplines to which we give the name of education. Unhappily, too, 
the doubt comes from scholars, from persons who have tried these methods. 
In their experience, the scholar was not raised by the sacred thoughts among 
which he dwelt, but used them to selfish ends. He was a profane person, 
and became a showman, turning his gifts to a marketable use and not to his 
own sustenance and growth. 

It was found that the intellect could be independently developed — that is, 

in separation from the man — as any single organ can be invigorated ; and the 

result was monstrous. A canine appetite for knowledge was generated, 

which must still be fed, but was never satisfied; and this knowledge, not 

being directed on action, never took the character of substantial, humane 

truth, blessing those whom it entered. It gave the scholar certain powers of 

expression, the power of speech, the power of poetry, of literary art, but it 

did not bring him to peace or to beneficence. ^ ,^ -r. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

Can it be possible, you ask, that the study of botany will give as much 
and as high an order of culture as the study of Latin ? That depends 
wholly upon how and with what continuity botany and Latin are studied. 
If you put one term of Latin against six years of botany, the question will 
answer itself. Equally so if, as in the Old Education, you put one term of 
botany against six years of Latin . Or if you put botany taught by a text- 
book against Latin taught by a living man, the question is easily answered. 

What the New Education assumes to answer is this : Is botany, geology, 

or chemistry, when rightly taught, as efl&cient a means of culture as an equal 

amount of Latin, Greek, or mathematics rightly taught ? And it answers 

this question unqualifiedly and unhesitatingly in the affirmative. It is not 

claimed that the culture is identical in each instance, but it is claimed that 

the culture is equally real in all these cases. 

—J. P. D. John. 



ARNAUB BEBQUIN 657 

ARNAUD BERQUIN 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. Berquin's service to the children of France. 

2. The distinguished honor conferred on Berquin by the French 
Academy. 3. Berquin's appointment to the royal tutorship; 
his death, before the bursting of the Revolutionary storm. 
4. The light character of Berquin's comedies ; their influence 
upon the character of the young. 5. The use of L' Educatiori 
a la Mode as an exercise in translation. 6. Personages of the 
play. 7. The training of Leonor. 8. The training of Didier. 

9. The influence of their training upon their characters. 

10. The training of the daughters of Didier's teacher. 

11. The indulgent aunt. 12. The change wrought in Leonor. 
13. "Frenchy" characteristics of the play. 14. Glimpses of 
school life at the Pensions; school education compared with 
education conducted wholly at home. 15. The moral of the 
drama ; its application at the present day. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The necessity for wholesome juvenile lit- 
erature. 2. What constitutes a proper education for girls? 

3. The education of the sexes in separate schools. 4. The 
baneful effects of over-indulgence of children at home. 

NOTES 

In spite of the fact that each generation opens new careers of usefulness 
to woman, many of which she has adorned, and which it is honorable in her 
to pursue, it is nevertheless true that woman's kingdom is preeminently 
the home. 

Any thorough course of instruction in household matters is a preparation 
for the ordinary life-work of a woman, whatever her station. There is 
scarcely any sphere of activity into which she can enter where the knowl- 
edge of some part at least of household duties will not materially assist her. 

It is of the highest importance, especially at this time, when so many 
false ideas on the subject prevail, that our young twirls should realize the 
fact that there is nothing degrading in houseliold work or in domestic 
service. 



568 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 

A distinguished woman has well expressed this idea in the following 
paragraph : 

"The wrongly-educated woman thinks her duties a disgrace, and frets 
under them or shirks them if she can. She sees man triumphantly pursu- 
ing his vocations, and thinks it is the kind of work he does which makes 
him regnant ; whereas it is not the kind of work at all, but the way in which 
and the spirit with which he does it." 

This mistake leads young women to devote time and energy exclusively 
to what are termed the higher branches of education. In doing this they 
neglect the lowlier, but not less noble, study of domestic science, and so 
enter upon life unprepared for the duties that usually await them. 

Such neglect cannot be too greatly deplored. The time spent in acquir- 
ing a knowledge of domestic science is never in vain if it enables women to 
attend wisely and faithfully to what is necessary to the comfort and happi- 
ness of home. 

It is desirable, therefore, that every woman should acquire a thorough 
knowledge of domestic economy. . . . 

"She looketh weU to the ways of her household," — words that the wise 

man coupled with prosperity and honor, — still promise the same blessing 

upon the faithful performance of those duties which, as part of woman's 

inheritance, we may not put aside. 

— Preface to Household Economy. 

Everything that is called fashion and courtesy humbles itself before the 
cause and fountain of honor, creator of titles and dignities, namely, the 
heart of love. This is the royal blood, this the fire, which, in all countries 
and contingencies, will work after its kind and conquer and expand all that 
approaches it. This gives new meanings to every fact. This impoverishes 
the rich, suffering no grandeur but its own. What is rich ? . . . Without 
the rich heart wealth is but a beggar. The king of Schiraz could not afford 
to be so bountiful as the poor Osman who dwelt at his gate. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

Social science affirms that woman's place in society marks the level of 
civilization. From its twilight in Greece, through the Italian worship of 
the Virgin, the dreams of chivalry, the justice of the civil law, and the 
equality of French society, we trace her gradual recognition ; while our 
common law, as Lord Brougham confessed, was, with relation to women, 
the opprobrium of the age and of Christianity. For forty years, plain men 
and women, working noiselessly, have washed away that opprobrium; the 
statute books of thirty states have been remodeled, and woman stands 
to-day almost face to face with her last claim, — the ballot. 

— Wendell Phillips. 



COLMAN THE YOUNGER 659 



FOURTH MONTH, pp. 179-256 



COLMAN THE YOUNGER 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. Colman the Elder, and his career. 2. The 
education of Colman the Younger; his writings; his success 
as a dramatist. 3. Colman's dramatic masterpieces. 4. The 
sudden change in Daniel Dowlas's fortunes. 5 . The efforts 
of the pseudo Lord and Lady Duberly to appear at ease in 
their new station. 6. Dr. Pangloss, and his accomplishments. 

7. The effect upon Dick Dowlas of the sudden elevation. 

8. Dick's idea of the requisites of a *' modern fine gentleman." 

9. Dick's control of Dr. Pangloss. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The impossibility of making up, in later 
life, the lack of cultured training in youth. 2. The use of 
classical quotations, and the index which they afford to a 
desirable acquaintance with the classics. 3. False notions of 
life acquired by the children of the wealthy in society. 4. The 
teacher's actuating motive. 5. A teacher's lack of true dignity 
and force of character. 6. A teacher's duplicity. 

NOTES 

Would you your son should be a sot or dunce, 
Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once ; 
That, in good time, the stripling's finished taste 
For loose expense and fashionable waste 
Should prove your ruin, and his own at last, 
Train him . . . with a mob of boys, 
Childish in mischief only and in noise, 
Else of a mannish growth, and, five in ten, 
In infidelity and lewdness, men. 
There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old, 
That authors are most useful pawned or sold ; 



560 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WOEK 

That pedantry is all that schools impart, 
But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart ; 
There waiter Dick, with bacchanalian lays, 
Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise, 
His counselor and bosom friend shall prove. 



Like caterpillars dangling under trees 
By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze, 
Which filthily bewray and sore disgrace 
The boughs in which are bred the unseemly race. 
While every worm industriously weaves 
And winds his web about the riveled leaves ; 
So numerous are the follies that annoy 
The mind and heart of every sprightly boy — 
Imaginations noxious and perverse. 
Which admonition can alone disperse. 
The encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand, 
Patient, affectionate, of high command. 
To check the procreation of a breed 
Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. 

'Tis not enough that Greek or Roman page, 
At stated hours, his freakish thoughts engage. 
E'en in his pastimes he requires a friend 
To warn, and teach him safely to unbend ; 
O'er all his pleasures gently to preside. 
Watch his emotions, and control their tide ; 
And levying thus, and with an easy sway, 
A tax of profit from his very play. 
To impress a value, not to be erased, 
On moments squandered else, and running all to waste. 

— WiLLIAlVI COWPER. 

With all the attachment which young pupils will cherish even toward a 
bad teacher, and with all the confidence they will repose in him, who can 
describe the mischief which he can accomplish in one short term ? The 
school is no place for a man without principle. Let such a man seek a 
livelihood anywhere else ; or, failing to gain it by other means, let starvation 
seize the body, and send the soul back to its Maker as it is, rather than that 
he should incur the fearful guilt of poisoning youthful minds and dragging 
them down to his own pitiable level. If there can be one sin greater than 
another, on which Heaven frowns with more awful displeasure, it is that 



COLMAN THE YOUNGER 561 

of leading the young into principles of error, and the debasing practices 

of vice. 

" O woe to those who trample on the mind, 
That deathless thing ! They know not what they do, 
Nor what they deal with. Man, perchance, may bind 
The flower his step hath bruised ; or light anew 
The torch he quenches ; or to music wind 
Again the lyre-string from his touch that flew ; — 
But for the soul, O tremble and beware 
To lay rude hands upon God's mysteries there." 

— David P. Page. 

It is not sufficient that instructors be competently skillful in those sciences 
which they profess and teach ; but they should have skill also in the art or 
method of teaching, and patience in the practice of it. 

It is a great unhappiness indeed, when persons by a spirit of party or 
faction or interest, or by purchase, are set up for tutors, who have neither 
due knowledge of science nor skill in the way of communication. And 
alas, thei-e are others who, with all their ignorance and insufficiency, have 
self-admiration and effrontery enough to set up themselves ; and the poor 
pupils fare accordingly, and grow lean in their understandings. 

And let it be observed also, that there are some very learned men who 
know nmch themselves, but have not the talent of communicating their own 
knowledge, or else they are lazy and will take no pains at it. Either they 
have an obscure and perplexed way of talking, or they show their learning 
uselessly, and make a long periphrasis on every word of the book they 
explain, or they cannot condescend to young beginners, or they run presently 
into the elevated parts of the science, because it gives themselves greater 
pleasure, or they are soon angry and impatient, and cannot bear with a few 
impertinent questions of a young, inquisitive, and sprightly genius, or else 
they skim over a science in a very slight and superficial survey, and never 
lead their disciples into the depth of it. 

A good tutor should have characters and qualifications very different 
from all these. He is such a one as both can and will apply himself with 
diligence and concern and indefatigable patience to effect what he under- 
takes ; to teach his disciples and see what they learn ; to adapt his way and 
method, as near as may be, to the various dispositions as well as to the 
capaciti'^s of those whom he instructs, and to inquire often into their progress 
and improvement. And he should take particular care of his own temper 
and conduct, that there be nothing in him or about him which may be of 
ill example; nothing that may savor of a haughty temper, or a mean and 
sordid spirit; nothing that may expose him to the aversion or to tlie con- 
tempt of his scholars. , ^ 

— Isaac Watts. 

SCH. IN 0031. — 36 



562 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 

MARIA EDGEWORTH 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. The rank of Maria Edgeworth as an author. 
2. Miss Edgeworth's father, and her cooperation with him ; the 
life of the Edgeworths in Ireland. 3. The influence of Miss 
Edgeworth's books upon society ; the general tenor of her 
writings ; her best works. 4. A pleasing scene of child life in 
the country. 5. A supercilious youth from the city. 6. A 
scene in the old-time Dame school. 7. A haughty young mis- 
tress, and her maid. 8. A conspiracy of youthful malcontents, 
and its frustration. 9. The character of the Dame ; her dress. 
10. The Dame's quiet control of her pupils ; her confidence in 
their integrity. 11. The effects of city life upon Felix and 
Miss Babberly. 12. Miss Edgeworth's characteristic contrasts 
illustrated in this drama. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The simplicity of the old Dame schools; 
their influence in the development of character. 2. The influ- 
ence of "fast" city life upon the young. 3. Characteristic 
courtesy shown by Old World children to the aged. 

NOTES 

God help us to realize that there is something else to be accomplished in 
our schoolrooms besides intellectual acquirements and mental discipline. 

— Eva D. Kellogg. 

Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of immor- 
tality. And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite 

estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean. 

— Charles Dickens. 

" Nothing," says John Locke, " sinks so gently and so deep into men's 
minds as examples " ; and this is particularly true in childhood. Right feel- 
ings are awakened by presenting appropriate examples as excitants to the 
mind. The feelings are not subject to orders. They do not come or go at 
one's bidding, and they are not responsive to abstract statements of duty. 
They are occasioned by the presence of some mental conception or image 
adapted to awaken them, and these occasions may be the actual seeing of the 



MARIA EDGE WORTH 563 

exciting object or its apprehension when presented to the mind by means 
of language or illustration. 

The moral judgment is also best trained by comparing the ethical quali- 
ties of actions presented concretely, just as the power to discriminate colors 
is developed by observing colored objects. A theoretical knowledge of duty 
may be gained by the study of ethics as a science ; but the wise application 
of such knowledge in one's own conduct requires moral judgment — the 
power to discern duty under particular and often unique conditions and 
circumstances. Acute moral discernment and a quick conscience are more 
important in youth than abstract ethical knowledge. 

The principle that all primary ideas must be taught objectively is no truer 
in teaching natural science than in teaching duty. The primary facts of 
science may be early acquired by observation, but science proper must 
be deferred until a later period in the child's mental development — the 
so-called scientific phase. The same is true in moral instruction. The 
feelings, the conscience, and the moral judgment are not only best reached 
by concrete examples of conduct, but clear moral ideas are thus taught. 

— Emerson E. White. 

The precept of the teacher may do much toward teaching the child his 
duty to God, to himself, and to his fellow-beings. But it is not mainly by 
precept that this is to be done. Sermons and homilies are but little heeded 
in the schoolroom ; and unless the teacher has some other mode of reaching 
the feelings and the conscience, he may despair of being successful in moral 
training. 

The teacher should be well versed in human nature. He should know 
the power of conscience and the means of reaching it. He should himself 
have deep principle. His example in everything before his school should be 
pure, flowing out from the purity of his soul. He should ever manifest the 
tenderest regard to the law of right and of love. He should never violate 
his own sense of justice, nor outrage that of his pupils. Such a man teaches 
by his example. He is a "living epistle, known and read of all." He 
teaches, while he goes in and out before the school, as words can never teach. 

The moral feelings of children are capable of systematic and successful 
cultivation. " The more frequently we use our conscience," says Dr. Wayland, 
" in judging between actions, as right and wrong, the more easily shall we 
learn to judge correctly concerning them. He w^ho, before every action, 
will deliberately ask himself, 'Is this right or wrong?' will seldom mistake 
what is his duty. And children may do this as well as grown persons." 
Let the teacher appeal as often as may be to the pupil's conscience. In a 
thousand ways can this be done, and it is a duty the faithful teacher ow^es 
to his scholars. 

— David P. Page. 



564 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WOEK 
FIFTH MONTH, pp. 257-298 



EUGENE SCRIBE 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. Light forms of comedy in favor at the present 
day ; vaudevilles. 2. The most popular playwright of France ; 
his industry; his character. 3. The personages of the two 
preceptors. 4. An alliance formed against the new governor. 
5. The training of French youths in the old time, compared 
with that of the present day. 6. The teacher of the primary 
school ; his mannerism ; his disappointment. 7. A bold scheme 
of a charlatan ; the charlatan's idea of the essentials of a teacher. 

8. The impostor's tact; how he maintained a "learned dis- 
cussion " ; how he succeeded in imposing upon his employer. 

9. The impostor's degradation. 10. The impostor's contempt 
for the teacher of the primary school, as a fellow-charlatan. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The avoidance of mannerism on the part 
of a teacher. 2. The occasional success of educational charlatans 
in deceiving their employers. 3. The liability of uneducated 
but influential people to imposition by charlatans and impostors. 
4. The punishment which awaits pretenders in education. 

NOTES 

The teacher should go to his duty full of his work. He should be im- 
pressed with its overwhelming importance. He should feel that his mistakes, 
though they may not speedily ruin him, may permanently injure his pupils. 
Nor is it enough that he shall say, " I did it ignorantly." He has assumed 
to till a place where ignorance itself is a sin ; and where indifference to the 
well-being of others is equivalent to willful homicide. He might as inno- 
cently assume to be the physician, and, without knowing its effects, prescribe 
arsenic for the colic. Ignorance is not in such cases a valid excuse, because 
the assumption of the place implies a pretension to the requisite skill. 

Let the teacher, then, well consider what manner of spirit he is of. Let 
him come to this work only when he has carefully pondered its nature and 



EUGENE SCRIBE bQb 

its responsibilities, and after he has devoted his best powers to a thorough 
preparation of himself for its high duties. Above all, let him be sure that 
his motives on entering the schoolroom are such as will be acceptable in the 
sight of God, when viewed by the light beaming out from His throne. 

"O let not, then, unskillful hands attempt 
To play the harp whose tones, whose living tones, 
Are left forever in the strings. Better far 
That heaven's lightnings blast his very soul, 
And sink it back to Chaos' lowest depths. 
Than knowingly, by word or deed, he send 
A blight upon the trusting mind of youth." 

— David P. Page. 

The most important factor in any school, or system of education, is the 
teacher who directs its daily operations. Let us, then, consider some of the 
things belonging to a good teacher. And we will begin by asking, What are 
the proper motives to prompt him to take up this work ? We will mention 
three : a desire to do good, a love for the work, and money. 

It is no easy matter to estimate the money value of a good teacher's 
services. Some one has said that the world's work may be divided' into two 
kinds, viz., job-work and professional work. The first is work that has to do 
with material things only ; its value is easily computed ; and as its benefit 
can be exactly measured in money, so can its compensation. But profes- 
sional work has to do with things that cannot be measured in money. AVho 
can tell the value of the physician's services when he saves the life of a 
friend, or of a minister's if he leads one up to a higher moral and religious 
plane of life, or of the artist's when he cultivates and gratifies our aesthetic 
nature ? If such work be good, money cannot measure it ; if it be poor, 
it is worthless, or worse. The work of the true teacher must be classed as 
professional work, ^o one can tell just how man}'^ dollars a month will be 

an equivalent for it. 

— Edwin C. Hewett. 

" Teaching," says Mr. Fitch, " is the noblest of all professions, but it is 
the sorriest of trades." In all times and in all countries, teaching has been, 
for the most part, a trade ; but the spirit of this age is now calling the 
teacher to a higher plane of thinking and acting. Each step in civilization 
requires that men should work with sharper tools. From age to age men 
must work more rapidly and more surely. The sailing vessel once answered 
very well for transatlantic communication, and the stagecoach for transcon- 
tinental travel ; but this new age requires an ocean steamer that will pass 
from continent to continent within seven days, and a rail-car that will take 
us across the contment almost at the rate at which a bird can fly. 

— William H. Payne. 



566 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIBCLE WOBK 

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. Willis' literary career. 2. His portraiture in 
Ruth Hall. 3. His versification ; the delicacy of his poems. 
4. Criticisms upon his style. 5. Thebet Ben Khorat. 6. A 
night scene in Arabia. 7. The lost Pleiad. 8. The astrologer's 
soliloquy. 9. The astrologer's student ; his sacrifice ; the result 
of his overstudy. 10. The student's soliloquy. 11. The temp- 
tation to overstudy. 12. The danger of overstudy. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The grandeur of astronomy. 2. Personal sac- 
rifices for the sake of acquiring an education. 3. The danger 
of overstudy — a needed warning to teachers and pupils. 

NOTES 

The prize not only subordinates the will to selfish motives, but it often so 
intensifies effort to gain the coveted honor as to endanger health and future 
usefulness. Its strongest appeal is usually to bright and over-ambitious 
pupils, who, as a class, are nervous and excitable, and easily stimulated 
to over-exertion. The prize system has an appalling list of victims who have 
died early, or are "invalids for life." 

The writer recently had a conversation with a father whose daughter is 
standing at the head of her class (as standing is determined) in a great high 
school. At the close of the first year she was so completely "broken down," 
that he took her to the seashore for several weeks, to regain strength. At 
the time of our conversation, she was -closing her second year, pale and 
nervous ; and the father was doing his best " to keep her up," as he expressed 
it, until vacation should bring her needed relief. ISJ'or is this prospective 
" medal pupil " a rare exception. Few of the medal or honor pupils known 
to the writer in the past few years have left school or college in good health, 
this being specially true of the girls. 

Since writing the foregoing paragraph the writer was in company with 
several prominent educators, who successively told of the death of young 
ladies who, to their personal knowledge, had sacrificed health and life in 
winning class honors ; and soon after the writing of these words, a daily 
paper announced the death of the young lady referred to above, closing 
with this significant remark, " She was the ' first pupil' in her class." 

— Emerson E. White. 



CHARLES DICKENS 567 



SIXTH MONTH, pp. 301-377 



CHARLES DICKENS 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. The life history of the great novelist. 2. Dick- 
ens' visits to America ; his caricature of Americans ; their 
forgiveness, and his popularity among American readers. 
3. The humor of Dickens contrasted with his pathos ; his 
greatest works. 4. Lang's letter to Dickens. 5. Mr. Grad- 
grind's* address, and the schoolroom in which it was delivered. 
6. A recitation conducted by Mr. Gradgrind ; the exposition of 
his principle in education. 7. Mr. M'Choakumchild's prepara- 
tion for teaching. 8. A misdemeanor of Thomas and Louisa. 
9. Mr. Bounderby, a self-made man. 10. Coketown. 11. Jupe's 
abandonment of his daughter. 12. Mrs. Sparsit, and her con- 
nections. 13. Wondering forbidden. 14. The education of 
Cecilia Jupe. 15. Louisa's education, and its result. 

Pedagogical. — 1. A system of education from which im- 
agination is eliminated. 2. The culture of the imagination in 
modern schools; the use of fiction as a basis of moral lessons 
in the work of the various grades. 3. Two kinds of pride, as 
illustrated by Mr. Bounderby and Mrs. Sparsit. 4. The need 
of a mother's influence in the training of children. 

NOTES 

To ask, to guess, to know, as they commence, 
As fancy opens the quick springs of sense. 
We ply the memory, we load the brain. 
Bind rebel wit, and double chain on chain ; 
Confine the thought, to exercise the breath. 
And keep them in the pale of words till death. 
Whate'er the talents, or howe'er designed, 
We hang one jingling padlock on the mind. 

— Alexander Pope. 



568 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADINQ CIRCLE WORK 

The power of creating new forms and combinations out of the elements 
which nature furnishes, the faculty which never lets the mind rest content 
with mere perception, but is constantly urging it to new activities, is the 
imagination. Its work is demanded in every department of human thought 
and action ; and, therefore, this faculty should be carefully and thoroughly 
trained. Its importance in educational work is generally overlooked ; partly 
from a misunderstanding in regard to the faculty itself, and partly from a 
lack of system in the treatn^ient of all the faculties. 

Imagination is usually regarded as synonymous with fancy — very pleas- 
ant to amuse, but of little worth in real labor. It is thought to be poetic, 
sentimental, impracticable, and of service in the avocations rather than the 
vocations of life. Even writers upon mental philosophy seem to have been 
lost in a kind of fog when attempting to define its nature and office. 

The mind must have the power to use the ideas it obtains, or they are of 
little worth ; and, to use them well, it must combine them into new forms, 
thus discovering new relations. Imagination is usually considered repro- 
ductive as well as productive. The former, however, means but little more 
than a vivid recollection, while the latter alone expresses the true idea of 
the recombining or inventive faculty. Before the imagination can be devel- 
oped and trained, the mind must be in possession of a large number of defi- 
nite ideas, and have the ability to perceive the relations that exist between 
them. Both of these conditions are furnished by the objective system in a 
much higher degree than by any other. 

Again, by furnishing the mind with proper and congenial subjects of 
thought, the disastrous consequences of a perverted imagination are avoided. 
When occupied with ideas which have a real and tangible basis, the mind 
obtains quicker perceptions of true relations and a desire for further investi- 
gation; thus the imagination is impelled in the right direction. Deprived 
of this food, it uses the impulses which spring from ill-regulated appetites 
and passions, and creates a world which is unreal, and may be grotesque 
or prurient. 

The task imposed upon pupils of studying words instead of ideas, of try- 
ing to understand subjects above their comprehension, tends to paralyze the 
imagination, or force it into channels unnatural and dangerous. The bale- 
ful influence of improper sights and immoral books is a matter that is con- 
tinually forced upon the attention of teachers and parents. So potent are 
the evils arising therefrom, that it has become a serious question with many 
well-meaning people, whether the imagination is not a faculty of evil rather 
than beneficence, one that ought to be destroyed rather than developed. 

When the mind is filled with pleasing ideas, when it is stimulated 
through all the organs of sense, when its energies are taxed to the utmost, 
when its powers are brought into action in the exact order of nature, — 
then will the imagination find plenty of employment in the real world, and 



CHARLES DICKENS 569 

it will not so readily wander away into by and forbidden paths ; and the 
evils now so deplored, and so largely attributable to false methods of instruc- 
tion, will disappear. .. 

— Hermann Krusi. 

Literature abounds in this ethical material, and what is needed is its wise 
selection and impressive presentation in school instruction. It is example 
told in story, ennobled in poetry and song, and crystallized in maxim, that 
has been largely the inspirer of human endeavor and the moral uplift in 
human life. . . . We desire to call special attention to the fairy tale, . . . 
and for the reason that we hesitate to recommend unqualifiedly its use as an 
element of moral instruction. The fascination of the fairy tale in child- 
hood is conceded ; but we can but question the moral influence of those 
myths that present powers of evil in the form of elfs, imps, hobgoblins, etc. 

No thoughtful parent would thank a teacher, whether in the kindergarten 
or the elementary school, for filling the imagination of his little ones with 
these evil sprites, lurking in the darkness. To a child the darkness and the 
light should be equally free from terror. The theory that every child must 
go through with the experience of the race is more attractive than true. 
Birth into an enlightened Christian home ought to protect a child from 
some of the experiences of pagan life. 

But there are fairy tales that represent supernatural beings as ministers 
of good, not evil; and these may have an important place in the ethical 
training of the young. Some of these tales lend an exquisite charm to 
vu'tue. No kind of literature needs more careful sifting than myths and 
fairy tales, and no literature will better pay for the sifting. It may be 
added that all material for moral instruction should be selected with care. 

— Emerson E. White. 

"Education," in the pertinent language of Mr. Fox, "has reference to 
the wJiole man, the body, the mind, and the heart; its object, and when 
rightly conducted, its effect, is to make him a complete creature after his 
kind. To his frame it would give vigor, activity, and beauty ; to his senses, 
correctness and acuteness ; to his intellect, power and truthfulness ; to his 
heart, virtue. The educated man is not the gladiator, nor the scholar, nor 
the upright man, alone; but a just and well-balanced combination of all 
three. Just as the educated tree is neither the large root, nor the giant 
branches, nor the rich foliage, but all of them together. If you would 
mark the perfect man, you must not look for him in the circus, the univer- 
sity, or the church, exclusively ; but you must look for one who has ' mens 
Sana in corpore sano ' — a healthful mind in a healthful body. The being 
in whom you find this union is the only one worthy to be called educated. 
To make all men such is the object of education." 

— DAvm P. Page. 



570 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF READING CIRCLE WORE 
SEVENTH MONTH, pp. 381-450 



NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. Gogol's birth and education. 2. His early 
writings. 3. His great scheme for a comprehensive history, 
and its failure ; his failure as a professor. 4. The limitations 
under which Russian authors must write. 5. How Gogol 
learned caution. 6. The style of a Russian novel, as influ- 
enced by the despotism of the government. 7. Gogol's Cloak, 
8. Gogol's Dead Souls. 9. The hidden meaning of Gogol's 
writings ; their moral. 10. A scene in the rural mountains, 
near Mount Tremal ; a Russian village and its manor house. 

11. The opinion of the neighborhood concerning Tentetnikof. 

12. How Tentetnikof passed the day. 13. Tentetnikof's 
childhood. 14. Gogol's idea of the use of ridicule. Is it safe 
to encourage this ? 15. The school of Alexander Petrovitch, 
and its characteristics. 16. Petrovitch' s elimination of dull 
and trifling pupils ; his advanced course of study, and its 
requirements. 17. Petrovitch's unreserved presentation of 
the vices of society. 18. Petrovitch's influence on the after 
life of his pupils ; various ways in which it was exerted ; the 
superior equipment of his pupils for arduous services. 19. Ten- 
tetnikof's great misfortune ; its influence upon the school. 

20. Cause of the failure of the school under the new teachers. 

21. Tentetnikof's experience in the civil service at St. Peters- 
burg ; his reasons for leaving it. 22. Tentetnikof's efforts as 
a reformer. 23. Tentetnikof's failure as a reformer; the 
reasons for it. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The intense personality of the ideal teacher. 
2. Gogol's theory of the true incentive of the student, and the 
means of making it effective. 3. Gogol's plan for the elimi- 
nation from the schools of a certain class of students. 4. How 



NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL 5T1 

a school may become demoralized by want of concerted action 
on the part of its teachers. 5. The vast influence of early 
education upon the subsequent life work. 

NOTES 

Uniformity is the curse of American schools. That any school or col- 
lege has a uniform product, should be regarded as a demonstration of inferi- 
ority, of incapacity to meet the legitimate demands of a social order whose 
fundamental principle is that every career should be open to talent. Selec- 
tion of studies for the individual, instruction addressed to the individual, 
irregular promotion, grading by natural capacity and rapidity of attainment, 
and diversity of product as regards age and acquisitions must come to 
characterize the American public school if it is to answer the purposes of a 

democratic society. 

— Charles W. Eliot. 

If a teacher should put his blue-eyed children in one class and the black 
eyes in another, or if he should put all of a certain height or weight 
together, every one would see the absurdity of the performance. It is 
scarcely less absurd to put a boy into a certain class because of his age or 
family, or the wealth or position of his father, than to put him there because 
of the color of his eyes. Perhaps, however, it is proper to put a backward 
pupil who is somewhat mature into a class a little higher than his acquire- 
ments would indicate, because it is fair to suppose that he may work some- 
what harder than the pupils of the same standing who are less mature. . . . 

The true bases of classification are two in number, viz., present acquire- 
ments and general ability. Of these two the latter is of more importance, 
although the former is more easily ascertained, and very often it seems to 
be the only thing regarded. General ability includes natural aptness, 
maturity of mind, good habits of study, health, etc. A simple examination 
does not readily disclose all these elements. . . . 

There is no essential difference between graded schools and well-clas- 
sified schools. The diiferent grades are but classes put into the hands of 
different teachers. A system of graded schools should always have an able 
and well-qualified superintendent at its head. Of course such a person 
ought to command a good salary, but he can use teachers of less experience 
under his direction and supervision, and in that way better work may be 
done, and at less cost than would be necessary if only those teachers were 
employed who could be trusted to do their work without supervision. Xo 
one ought to attempt the supervision of a system of graded schools without 
giving the subject very careful thought and study. The annual reports of 
the schools in cities like St. Louis, Boston, Cincinnati, and Chicago will 
possess much interest for a superintendent. 



572 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF HEADING CIRCLE WORK 

The great danger in graded schools is that the grades will be made too 

inflexible, and thus the individual will be sacrificed to the system. A wise 

superintendent will devise ways to prevent this, and to allow each student 

to progress as fast as he is able, and no faster. 

— Edwin C. Hewett. 

It is strangely curious that the doing of the same thing may be both 
easy and difficult — easy when done in the right way, difficult when done in 
the wrong way. Success attends the doing in the right way ; failure is cer- 
tain to follow the doing in the wrong way. This is eminently true of teach- 
ing. Therefore, to determine what is the proper way becomes a question of 
great moment to every earnest teacher ; for on the correctness of this deci- 
sion depend the results of the teaching and the welfare of the pupils. 

A person may compare the results of one period of his work with those 
of another period, and thus note his own growth and progress in that work; 
but no person can measure himself by himself alone, and thus determine 
his actual ability. No teacher can measure his own work by itself, and thus 
determine its true quality. To obtain accurate results of any kind of work, 
and arrive at just conclusions as to its character, comparisons must be made 
under many conditions, and extended to a multitude of cases. So the 
teacher must compare his own methods of teaching with those that have 
been proved to be good by a long series of practical experiments — made 
under a great variety of conditions, and tested by the principles of education 
— before he can know with certainty that he has a standard of high value 
to guide him in the work of instruction. 

Those teachers whose methods agree with the principles of education and 
are confirmed by intelligent experience stand upon a plane far above that 
occupied by the untrained and unskilled school keeper, or that of one who 
remains an undecided experimenter in this important field; and the intel- 
ligent work approved by such reliable authority becomes certain in the 
character of its results, and positive in its value. 

Permanent and uniform success in teaching must come through the use 
of those methods which are in accordance with the principles of education ; 
therefore an intelligent understanding of those principles is necessary to the 
securing of desired results. From these statements the importance of 
attention to the science of education — of knowing what are the several 
powers of the mind, and the means for their development and proper culti- 
vation — become readily apparent. By a careful study of this department 
of education, teachers may ascertain whether or not the means which they 
are using will accomplish the end in view in the acquisition of knowledge 
and the proper training of mental power. Indeed, it is the duty of every 
teacher to know how to do his work, and also to know why he does it in one 

way rather than in another. 

— N. A. Calkins. 



NIKOLAI VASSILIEVITCH GOGOL. 573 

Ridicule is a weapon that should not be wielded as a school punish- 
ment. It often cuts deeper than he who uses it imagines, and it usually 
gives most pain where it is least merited. Some physical defect or some 
mental incapacity or eccentricity is most frequently made the subject of 
it; and yet nothing can be more unfeeling or more unjust than its use in 
such cases. 

If the designed failings of the indolent or the premeditated mischief of 
the vicious could be subjected to its influence, its use would be more allowable, 
— but even then it would be questionable. But the indolent and the vicious 
are usually unaffected by ridicule. They sin upon calculation, and not with- 
out counting the cost; and they are therefore very willing to risk then- 
reputation, where they have so little to lose. It is the modest, the conscien- 
tious, the well-meaning child that is the most affected by ridicule ; yet it is 
such a one that, for various reasons, is oftenest made the subject of it, 
though, of all children, his feelings should be most tenderly spared. 

A strong objection to the use of ridicule is the feeling which it induces 
between the teacher and pupil. The teacher, conscious that he has injured 
the feelings of the child, will find it hard to love him afterward ; for we 
seldom love those whom we have injured. The child, on the other hand, 
loses confidence in his teacher ; he feels that his sensibilities have been out- 
raged before his companions, and that the teacher, who should be his best 
friend in the school, has invited the heartless laugh of his fellow-pupils 
against him. With a want of love on the one hand, and of confidence on 
the other, what further usefulness can reasonably be expected ? 

But ihe strongest objection of all to the use of ridicule is the fact that it 
calls forth the worst of feelings in the school. Those who participate in the 
laugh thus excited are under the influence of no very amiable motives. And 
when this is carried so far as to invite, by direct words, some expression from 
the schoolmates, by pointing the finger of shame, and perhaps accompanying 
the act by a hiss of scorn, the most deplorable spirit of self-righteousness is 
cultivated. 

— David P. Page. 



The great teacher's progress is not to be compared with anything like the 
march of the conqueror, but it leads to a far more brilliant triumph and to 
laurels more imperishable than the destroyer of his species, the scourge of the 
world, ever won. Each one of these great teachers of the world, possessing 
his soul in peace, performs his appointed course, awaits in patience the ful- 
fillment of the promises, and, resting from his labors, bequeaths his memory 
to the generation whom his works have blessed, and sleeps under the humble, 
but not inglorious epitaph, commemorating, "one in whom mankind lost a 
friend, and no man got rid of an enemy." 

— Lord Brougham. 



574 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIECLE WOBK 

JOHN GODFREY SAXE 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. Saxe's college days ; his professional career. 
2. Saxe as a poet and as a wit. 3. Saxe's tales of the Orient ; 
his travesties; his extended poems. 4. Matters which pro- 
voke the poet to satire. 5. Ridicule of the theory of compen- 
sation. 6. Imagination substituted for laborious thought in 
the college. 7. Satirization of quick roads to learning. 
8. Satirization of the Ladies' Schools. 9. Satirization of modern 
sciences. 10. Satirization of attractive labor. 11. Satiriza- 
tion of French influence in education. 12. Satirization of the 
modern press. 

Pedagogical. — 1. To what extent may intellectual labor be 
judiciously lightened in school courses ? 2. The true place of 
modern languages and art in education. 3^ Schools for women 
exclusively. 4. Educational ''fads." 5. The need for dis- 
crimination in general reading. 

NOTES 

Another principle of the New Education is that it seeks to make the 
acquisition of knowledge, and all the work of the school, agreeable to the 
pupil. The human mind naturally craves knowledge, and its acquisition 
gives the highest pleasure ; but it must be real knowledge, — not its sem- 
blance, symbols, or husks. It is believed that the work of the school may 
be so conducted that the pupil may realize at all times that his store of 
knowledge is increasing, that his powers are strengthening, and that he may 
rejoice and be glad in his growth. This is a worthy aim, and the teacher 
can hardly regard it too highly. 

Yet it may be doubted whether the giving of pleasure to the pupils should 

be made the ultimate or only test in estimating the character of school work. 

In life, duty often imposes upon us tasks that are not wholly agreeable, 

although their accomplishment may bring the highest pleasure. It may 

well be asked whether school should not train us to meet and do bravely 

just such tasks, 

— Edwin C. Hbwett. 



JOHN GODFREY SAXE 575 

Music is supposed to be a sine qua non ^ in the education of all girls. The 
boarding schools of Dunedin (Edinburgh, Scotland) are allowed a very high 
position in the field of feminine didactics ; for Dunedin is the intellectual 
capital of an education-loving kingdom. In one of our very fashionable and 
aristocratic schools you will see a music master, in the course of three hours, 
pass fifteen little strumming maidens through his hands. He gives this 
lesson, of superintendence it is called, once a week. In another, still more 
fashionable school, this electric telegraph superintendence is given once a 
fortnight. In twelve minutes the master has to hear an old lesson played, to 
settle the piece for the next lesson, to write a good or bad mark in a note- 
book, and, occasionally, to take a pinch of snuff, or blow his weary nose. 
The little pupil in the latter school has about eleven minutes of male super- 
vision in the course of a fortnight ; which would give fifty-five seconds 
per diem, if the work were distributed over all the week days. Have these 
music masters never heard of Richardson's Theater, where a tragedy, a 
comedy, and a comic song are all enacted within the limits of their perspir- 
ing lessons? 

May not this electric telegraph system of musical instruction explain the 
general shallowness of our drawing-room music? The fault can hardly be 
in the brains or fingers of our girls, for they come of a race that has pro- 
duced the most exquisite ballad system, and the best collection of love- 
songs in all Europe. Some thousands of our girls are studying music year 
by year; yet for every girl musician in Dunedin you would find thirty in less 
populous Brussels, and ten in insignificant Bruges. And what are Belgian 
girls to the girls of Scotland ? 

Modern languages are taught at all schools to all pupils. How often, 
reader, have you met with a girl of fifteen who could write French correctly, 
or speak it with a good accent, although she might have studied the language 
for four years at a flourishing school ? This is not the fault of our girls ; 
the cause lies deeper. Our boarding schools are too often mere business 
speculations, whose proprietors have as much real interest in the mental cul- 
ture of their charges as a hotel keeper in the spiritual welfare of his guests. 
Men of talent are often employed by them in work degrading to themselves, 
and useless to their pupils; and very often sharp and ready fellows are 
employed, that never received the education of gentlemen, and were never 
intended to address a lady without the intervention of a counter. If a sys- 
tem is vulgar that employs incompetency, that sweats and underpays talent, 
is there no vulgarity in those patrons w^hose call for cheap teaching is the 
source of all the mischief ? What do we w^ant with your fine musicians and 
over-educated scholars? Give us teaching stuff that will stand wear and tear. 

— D'Arcy W. Thompson. 

1 An indispensable condition. 



576 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 
THOMAS WILLIAM ROBERTSON . 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. Robertson's rank among the playwrights of his 
day. 2. His youth ; his early success. 3. The disappointing 
character of his dramas when read. 4. School. 5. The story 
of Cinderella. 6. The learned Dr. Sutcliffe. 7. Mr. Krux ; 
his morbid disposition; his false ideas of life; his want of 
true dignity. 8. Visitors to the school. 9. The school ex- 
amination ; its character. 10. Mr. Krux's superciliousness. 
11. Disappearance of a favorite pupil. 12. The denoue- 
ment. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The natural unfitness of some teachers for 
their work. 2. The affectation of profundity by a teacher. 
3. False ideas of social station in a school. 4. School exami- 
nations ; how they should be conducted. 

NOTES 

It is now the usage in all our schools to have public examinations, — 
generally at the close of a term, or a portion of a term, — in order to test, in 
some measure, the industry and skill of the teacher, and the proficiency of 
the pupils. I am hardly prepared to oppose this usage, because I am inclined 
to believe examinations are of some utility as a means of awakening an 
interest in the parents of the children ; perhaps they do something to stimu- 
late school oflBcers, and also to excite both teacher and pupils to greater 
effort during the term. Still, public examinations, as frequently conducted, 
are not without serious objections. 

They certainly cannot be looked upon as criterions of the faithfulness or 
success of teachers. A man with tact, and without honesty, may make his 
school appear to far greater advantage than a better man can make a better 
school appear. This has often happened. It is not the most faithful and 
thorough teaching that makes the show and attracts the applause of a public 
exhibition. It is the superficial, mechanical, memoriter exercise that is most 
imposing. Who has not seen a class that recited by rote and in concert at a 
celebration win the largest approbation, when many of the individuals knew 
not the import of the words they uttered. Names in geography have been 



THOMAS WILLIAM liOBERTSON 577 

thus " said or sung," when the things signified were to the children as really 
terrce incognitce as the fairy lands of Sindbad the Sailor. 

Nor can such exhibitions be claimed justly to indicate the proficiency of 
the pupils. Every experienced teacher knows that the best scholars often 
fail at a public examination, and the most indolent and superficial often dis- 
tinguish themselves. The spectators, not .unfrequentl}^, in pointing out the 
talent of the school, make the teacher smile at their blunders. 

They present a strong temptation to dishonesty on the part of the teacher. 
Since so much stress is laid upon the examination, and particularly, in some 
regions, upon the celebration, v^^here several schools are brought together to 
make a show for a few hours, it must be rather an uncommon man who will 
have sufficient principle to exhibit his school as it is, and refuse to make 
those efforts so very common to have it appear w^hat it is not. The wish, 
expressed or implied, of the parents, and the ambition of the children, all 
conspire to make the teacher yield to a usage so common. 

Consequently, several weeks will be spent to prepare the children to appear 
in public. During this time they study not for improvement, not for future 
usefulness, but simply to make a show at the public celebration. An un- 
worthy and unwarrantable motive actuates them during all this process; 
and at last, unless strangely benighted, they are conscious of holding up a 
false appearance to the world. Now, under such circumstances, whatever 
of good is effected, by way of enkindling a zeal in the parents, is dearly 
purchased. The sacrifice of principle in a teacher — much more in the 
children — is a large price to pay for the applause of a few visitors, or 
even for an increase of interest among them in the cause of popular 
education. 

Examinations, however, which are less showy, and which are of such a 
character as thoroughly to sift the teachings that have been given, and to 
thwart any ingenious efforts especially to prepare for them — examinations 
that look back to the general teaching of the term of the year, and test the 
accuracy and thoroughness of the instructions — are unquestionably very 
desirable and useful. To make them so in the highest sense, and to exempt 
them from an evil tendency upon the minds of the young themselves, the 
teacher should be strictly honest. Not a lesson should be given with sole 
reference to the exhibition at the close ; not an exercise should be omitted 
because the examination approaches. The good teacher should keep those 
great motives before the mind, which look to future usefulness, and to the 
discharge of duty. The child should be taught that he is accountable for 
what he acquires, and what he may acquire, and not for what he may 
appear to have acquired; and that this accountability is not confined to a 
single day, soon to pass and be forgotten, but it runs through all time and 
all eternity. 

— David P. Page. 

SCH. IN COM. — 37 



578 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 

That the importance commonly attached to examinations is a mistake, 
is a conviction slowly making itself felt among a large nmnber of teachers. 
That they are not, and cannot be to any great extent, a means of estimating 
mind growth, is clear ; and certainly the formation of right habits of think- 
ing and acthig is not the least result for which the teacher labors. On the 
other hand, the diverse tendencies of individual minds, faulty recitation 
work, the relatively small amount of written work done in our schools, the 
periodicity of examinations where such practice exists, and faulty question- 
ing — one and all — are active agents in lessening the value commonly 
ascribed to examinations as measures of intellectual attainments ; and to 
determine either the class standing or the promotion by them alone, is cer- 
tainly an injustice to pupils. 

— Margaret Lawrence. 

The young study character very speedily and very accurately. Perhaps 
no one pupil could express in words an exact estimate of a teacher's char- 
acter after a week's acquaintance ; but the whole school has received an 
impression which is not far from the truth. A teacher, then, is very unwise 
who attempts to assume to be anything which he is not. He should ever be 
frank, and in commencing a school he should begin as he can hold out. 
Any assumption of an authoritative tone is especially ill-judged. The pupils 
at once put themselves in an attitude of resistance when this is perceived by 
them. 

It is a maxim of law that one charged with crime is always to be pre- 
sumed innocent until proved guilty. This should be a maxim with the 
teacher who would govern well. There is no more direct way of making a 
school vicious than by showing them that you suspect they are so. A good 
reputation is dear to all, and even a bad boy will be restrained from wicked 
acts as long as he thinks you give him credit for good intentions. But if 
he finds that he has lost your good opinion, he feels that he has nothing 
further to lose by being as bad as you suspect him to be. A teacher is wise, 
therefore, if he tries to see something good even in a vicious pupil. It may 
be, as it often has been, the means of saving such a pupil. 

I have known a very depraved boy entirely reformed in school by his 
teacher's letting him know that he had noticed some good traits in his char- 
acter. He afterwards told his teacher that he had been so often suspected 
to be a villain that he had almost come to the conclusion that he would be 
one, but that when he found one man who could do him the justice to give 
him credit for a few good feelings — for he knew he had them — he at once 
determined to show that man that his confidence had not been misplaced, 
and that he would sooner die than knowingly offend the only person who 
had ever understood him. 

— David P. Page. 



CHARLES WILLIAM BABBEEN 679 



EIGHTH MONTH, pp. 453-490 



CHARLES WILLIAM BARDEEN 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. A young soldier and teacher. 2. Bardeen's 
education ; his experience in the school superintendency and 
in the normal school work. 3. Roderick Hume; its indi- 
viduality among American novels ; the interest which it awak- 
ened; objections urged against the fifteenth chapter of the 
book. 4. Bardeen's other works. 5. The Teachers' Bureau. 

6. The elements of a successful teacher ; the importance of 
tact. 7. Professor Cobb, and the Norway Free High School ; 
Miss Lowe's work. 8. The recitation in arithmetic. 9. Mr. 
Dormouse ; Squire Marvin ; Mr. Domite ; Mr. Angell ; Squire 
Coy ; Mr. Abrahams ; Mr. Blarston. 10. Hume's first work 
in the schoolhouse. 11. The systems of examination and 
marking. 12. Hume's first day in the school ; his theory of 
school discipline. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The value of the Teachers' Bureau ; how 
such a Bureau should be conducted. 2. What makes a teacher 
successful. 3. How to conduct a class* in arithmetic. 4. The 
neglect of the use of apparatus in schools. 5. The duties 
of a Principal. 6. A teacher's dealings with School Boards. 

7. The police system of school discipline. 

NOTES 

Our public school system, iu its purpose and scope and general adminis- 
tration, is our national pride, if not our glory. But, as Americans, fully 
comprehending what it is, is it not our first and patriotic duty to repair in 
it whatever imperfections may appear, that it may more and more eifectively 
subserve its purpose? You know, gentlemen, undoubtedly better than I, 
that political patronage and personal interests and partialities, ignorance 



580 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIRCLE WORK 

and indifference, and mercenary and illicit motives of all kinds do in some 
degree degrade and demoralize the public school system. You know that 
in the primary schools the seeds of our future America are sown, and you 
know how deep in that quick soil of childhood all ignoble dispositions may 
strike their roots, like poisonous weeds, and with what difficulty they are 
torn up. 

A teacher cannot cringe to a superior school officer and flatter and fawn 
for favor without a loss of self-respect which necessarily affects his manhood, 
destroj^s his enthusiasm, and unfits him for his duty. Can any patriotic 
American state one good reason why a system of selection which is entirely 
applicable and with the happiest results to every other branch of the public 
service is unfitted for the most important branch of all, the public school? 
It is a simple, reasonable, and perfectly practicable system, and that its 
principle might be universally adopted for the selection of teachers is a 
proposition which does not seem to me to admit of debate. 

Every objection and adverse argument that has been urged in the general 
discussion of the question of civil service reform in this country was antici- 
pated in the English consideration of the same subject. The chief opposi- 
tion — what I may call the last ditch of objection — was that no preliminary 
examination of general or special information could determine satisfactorily 
the fitness for his duties of a public officer of any degree. 

The conclusive reply to this objection was twofold : first, that there was 
simply a choice of alternatives, and that an impartial preliminary inquiry 
into fitness was better than no care or inquiry at all, which is the spoils sys- 
tem ; and, second, that final appointment was to be made only after proba- 
tion or actual test of capacity and fitness. So I can suppose it to be said 
that examination in scholarship would not test the more important qualifi- 
cations of a teacher, which are the ability to awaken interest, to impart 
knowledge, and to keep order — the first and imperative requirement in the 
American school. But probation would test them as in other employments, 
and probation is a vital condition of the reformed system. 

The application of what we call the merit system to the schools is long 
established and familiar elsewhere. The elementary schools of Germany, 
for instance, are certainly among the best in the world, and every German 
teacher must have had three or four years' training in a normal school, of 
which the standard is prescribed by the government, and after two years of 
provisional service he must pass a second practical examination before he is 
definitely installed in his work. This is the provision also in France and 
Austria; and in Ireland, as Mr. Jay, first President of the New York Civil 
Service Commission, states, the four national examiners of the public schools 
are selected by competitive examinations. 

The comment upon such facts, perhaps, will be that America is not Ger- 
many, France, Austria, or Ireland, and that we are a law unto ourselves. 



CHAELES WILLIAM BAB BEEN 581 

True ; but among the great qualities which have iriade America is the com- 
mon sense which appropriates to American advantage whatever in any 
country in the world seems to be wise or useful. 

— Geokge William Curtis. 

The work of instruction follows the law which prevails in all other indus- 
tries — differentiation, classification, system ; and, as in a complicated proc- 
ess of manufacture, while each workman is held responsible for that part 
which he executes, some one man is held responsible for the general result ; 
so in an extended system of instruction there should be a responsible head, 
able to devise plans in general and in detail, and vested with sufficient 
authority to keep all subordinates in their proper places, and at their 
assigned tasks. 

A graded school of a thousand pupils and twenty teachers involves a 
system of great complexity, and requires the nicest adjustments in order 
to work with harmony and efficiency. The arrangement of courses of study, 
the examination and classification of pupils, their discipline and correc- 
tion, the oversight of teachers, the compilation of records, — these are some 
of the items on which depends the success of the system, and require the 
attention of a single, responsible head. 

Two varieties of labor are required in every occupation — that of plan- 
ning, and that of executing. Most men work after prescribed rules. It is 
easier to follow the footsteps of others than to beat a new path for ourselves. 
Some, however, are most naturally and successfully employed in organizing, 
planning, and supervising. This difference is constitutional. While most 
men are content to know how a process is performed, a comparatively few 
are impelled to study the rationale of methods. 

In other words, there is empirical knowledge and scientific knowledge, — 
a knowledge of processes raereh-, and a profounder knowledge of the laws 
Avhich underlie these processes. The engineer who drives his engine merely 
from imitation, and the engineer who understands the construction of this 
wonderful machine and the mechanical principles which are involved in its 
working, possess two widely different grades of qualifications. The first is 
a machine in charge of a machine ; to the other the engine is as though 
it were transparent, revealing its minutest part, and wholly subject to his 
directing will. 

In case of accident, these two orders of knowledge are brought into 
striking contrast. The lower knowledge is useless in times of derangement 
— under abnormal circumstances; while the higher, being able to penetrate 
into the causes of disturbance, may restore the normal situation of affairs. 
The peculiar value of scientific knowledge is the extent of its previsions — 
previsions which may be employed either in anticipating and providing 
against disaster or in devising new and better processes. 



582 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF READING CIRCLE WORK 

It is safe to say that there is no profession in which empiricisiri prevails 
to such an extent as in teaching. In other professions there is a course of 
preparatory training, designed to unfold the scientific principles which under- 
lie the arts in question ; and in actual practice there is constant reference 
to the laws which are involved in the various cases presenting themselves, 
and an effort to discover the causes of that which is abnormal, and thus to 
proceed by rational methods. 

In teaching, however, tradition and imitation are dominant. In this 
country, at least, teaching is, for the most part, a mechanical employment, 
and teachers differ from one another chiefly in industry and tact. To super- 
intend the work of instruction with advantage requires, at least, consider- 
able executive ability, a somewhat complete knowledge of the branches 
taught, and ready skill in discipline. With these qualifications alone, a 
system of instruction may be kept from deteriorating, but it is not likely 
that it will be improved to any considerable extent — improved, that is, by 
the conception of more philosophic methods, and the skillful adaptation of 
means to desired ends. 

What is involved in an improvement purposely made ? A close scrutiny 
of the principles involved, an ideal scheme of what is desired, and an intelli- 
gent eniployment of adequate means. The improvement is first constructed 
in thought by " the scientific use of the imagination," and then the plan is 
patiently embodied in practice. Superintendence, then, requires, in addition 
to practical skill, scientific prevision derived from a profounder knowledge 
of the science of education. 

— William H. Payne. 

It is sometimes asked whether a teacher should join freely in the sports 
and games of his pupils ? To our mind, the answer is clearly in the affirma- 
tive. Such a course, if judiciously followed, will benefit the pupil; it may 
improve the character of his sports; it may prevent evils that would other- 
wise itifest the playground; it will cement the bond of union and sympathy 
between him and his teacher. It will benefit the teacher by bringing him 
into a closer sympathy with his pupils ; it will help him to keep from grow- 
ing old before his time ; it will give him a better insight into the personal 
characteristics of his pupils than anything else. But he must join in the 
sports as an equal ; he must not, by the assumption of a dictatorial manner, 
make his presence on the playground disagreeable ; furthermore, it is import- 
ant that he should be able to play well any game in which he may join. If 
it be objected that his dignity will suffer from his joining in the pupils' 
plays, we have only to say that a dignity which cannot bear the test of the 
playground must be of an artificial or false kind. True dignity means 
genuine worth shown in a worthy way. 

— Edwin C. Hewett. 



D'ARCr WENTW'ORTB THOMPSON 58B 



NINTH MONTH, pp. 493-538 



D'ARCY WENTWORTH THOMPSON 
STUDIES 

General. — 1. The classical master in the Edinburgh Academy ; 
his birth and early training. 2. Professor Thompson's visit 
to the United States ; his lectures ; his books ; his influence. 
3. A lover of cats and dogs and of imperfect children. 4. A 
proposed Caieteiim ; its Board of Guardians, government, and 
Special Aggravators. 5. A proposed training for nursery 
maidens; their equipment of leather and of gerund stones. 

6. Spelling lessons for the model nursery ; grammar for the 
model nursery ; biographv and history for the model nursery. 

7. Thompson's elementary school training. 8. How men look 
back upon their school days. 9. How the classics are taught 
in the English public schools. 10. A vile system of literal 
translations. 11. A broad and catholic system of language 
study ; how Thompson would treat Latin and Greek. 12. A 
teacher's vision of the place of the schoolmaster in the lower 
world. 18. The schoolmaster's love letter. 14. The etymo- 
logical signification of teacher. 15. How Thompson would treat 
geometry. 16. Diogenes in the educational field. 17. How 
the child's life may be rendered dreary. 18. The jumbling 
system in education. 19. The jumbling system in other pro- 
fessions. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The barrenness of the conventional spell- 
ing lesson. 2. Corporal punishment and machine work in the 
elementary school. 3. The unprofitable character of classical 
"cramming" in English grammar schools. Thompson's theory 
of a catholic system of teaching languages. 4. How Thomp- 
son would teach elementary geometry. 5. What a school- 
master can do with a youth of talent. 



e584 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF READING CIRCLE WORK 



NOTES 

Then did Erasmus take occasion to make the scoffing remark, — 

" Decern annos consumpsi in legendo Cicerone " (I have spent ten years in 

reading Cicero). 

And the echo answered in Greek, — 

"Ove (pronounced o'-ne — "thou ass"). 

— Old Joke. 

I think it incontestably true that for the last fifty years our classical 

studies have been too critical and formal. 

— Professor Sedgwick. 

First, then, I believe that one of the reasons why classical studies lie 
across the path of education, unprogressive themselves and a hindrance to 
all other progress, is the present superstitious devotion to Greek and Latin 
composition, and the present irrational mode of studying grammar. It is 
in this direction that our reform must be most radical and most impera- 
tive. . . . 

Well may Mr. Herbert Spencer speak of '' that intensely stupid practice, 
the teaching of grammar to children." "Grammar," says Home Tooke 
(who surely was a good judge, if any one was), "is among the first things 
taught, and the latest understood." Yet what happens ? What is happen- 
ing at this moment to your little sons ? They are being " dragged through 
grammar as through a cactus bush," being taught it in a way which always 
reminds me of Judges viii. 16, where it says that Gideon "took thorns of 
the wilderness and briers, and with these he taught the men of Succoth." 

— Canon Farrar. 

" It is deplorable," says the poet Cowley, himself a brilliant scholar, " to 
consider tlie loss which children make at most schools, employing, or rather 
casting away, six or seven years in the learning of words only, and that 
very imperfectly." 

" We do amiss," says John Milton, " to spend seven or eight years 
merely in scraping together so much miserable Greek and Latin as might 
be learned otherwise easily and delightfully in one year." 

Neither am I so foolish as to reject grammar, but would only have it 

taught to persons who by ripeness of understanding are able to comprehend 

the reasons thereof. 

— R. Carew. 

It may be affirmed without hesitation that grammar is not the stepping- 
stone, but the finishing instrument. 

^ ^ _M. Marcel. 



B'AECr WENT WORTH THOMPSON 585 

There are usually easier avenues to the heart than that which is found 
through the integuments of the body. Happy is that teacher who is so 
skillful as to find them ; and gladly would I welcome the day when the 
number of such skillful and devoted teachers should render any further 
defense of the rod superfluous. Although I believe that day has not yet 
arrived, still, in the meantime, I most earnestly urge all teachers to strive 
to reach the higher motives and the finer feelings of the young, and to rely 
mainly for success, not upon appeals to fear and force, but upon the power 
of conscience and the law of reciprocal affection. 

As I have placed the higher motives and the more desirable means first 
in order in these remarks on government, so I would always have them 
first, and perseveringly employed by the teacher; and if, by earnestness 
in his work, by unfeigned love for the young, by diligence in the study of 
their natures and the adaptation of means to ends, which true benevolence 
is sure to suggest, he can govern successfully without corporal punishment 
— as in a large proportion of cases I believe it can be done — none will 
rejoice more than I at such a desirable result; and I most cordially sub- 
scribe to the principle so happily stated by another, that in the government 
of schools, if thorough obedience be but secured and order maintained, 
other things being equal, " The minimum of punishment is the maximum 
of excellence." -DAvm P. Page. 

Nearly every subject dealt with is arranged in abnormal order; definitions 

and rules and principles being put first, instead of being disclosed, as they are 

in the order of nature, through the study of cases. 

— Herbert Spencer. 

I am strongly opposed to what I conceive to be a most false application 
of a true principle — namely, making children learn Latin at a very early 
period of life, particularly . . . through the medium of technical grammar. 
This, instead of naturally and healthfully exercising the verbal memory of a 
child, tends to overload it with a weight of barbarous terms, all explana- 
tions of which imply a power of abstraction quite beyond his years. 

— Dr. Jerrard. 

Rules are learned by the ear and by rote, without any digestion of the 
understanding ; a habit is generated of accepting and using words without 
an insight into their meaning, and of applying principles in practice with- 
out a thought of their real nature. 

— Prof. Halford Vaughan. 

I know hardly a single scholar who is not of opinion that the common 
system of teaching syntax by abstract rules, conveyed in a difficult style, 
and at first unintelligible to the learner, is a grievous waste of time, and, 
what is worse, a waste of the learner's energy and readiness to be taught. 

— E. E. BowEN. 



586 OUTLINES AND NOTES OF BEADING CIUCLE WOBK 
ERNST ECKSTEIN 

STUDIES 

General. — 1. The versatility and popularity of Eckstein. 
2. His principal works. 3. The Visit to the Cell; the 
marvelous sale of the book ; criticisms made by certain teachers. 
4. Eckstein's reply to his critics. 5. The German Gymna- 
sium. 6. Dr. Heinzerling ; his peculiarities of pronunciation. 
7. Rumpf's mimicry ; his punishment. 8. The lesson in Phi- 
loetetes. 9. The Doctor's visit to the cell ; the Doctor a 
prisoner. 10. Rumpf's triumph ; the Doctor at liberty. 
11. How the Doctor came to look upon the incident. 

Pedagogical. — 1. The teacher's mannerism a source of weak- 
ness. 2. Solitary imprisonment as a means of discipline in a 
school. 3. Humorous pranks of students, and how they should 
be treated. 

NOTES 

The importance of correct habits to any individual cannot be overrated. 

The influence of the teacher is so great upon the children under his care, 

either for good or for evil, that it is of the utmost importance to them, as well 

as to himself, that his habits should be unexceptionable. It is the teacher's 

sphere to improve the community in which he moves, not only in learning, 

but in morals and manners ; in everything that is " lovely and of good 

report." This he may do partly by precept, — but very much by example. 

He teaches, wherever he is. His manners, his appearance, his character, are 

all the subject of observation, and to a great extent, of imitation, by the 

young in his district. 

•^ ^ —David P. Page. 

Habits not morally objectionable are sometimes hindrances to intellectual 
progress and to efficiency in the work of learning or teaching. Mr. Sully 
says : " Taken in a narrow sense, habit is, in a manner, opposed to growth. 
By following out a train of ideas again and again in a certain way, we lose 
the capability of varying this order, of readapting the combination to new 
circumstances. Habit is thus the element of persistence, of custom, the 
conservative tendency ; whereas growth implies flexibility, modifiability, 
susceptibility to new impressions, the progressive tendency." The danger 



J£liNST ECKSTEIN 587 

from this element in habit needs to be guarded against by students and by 

teachers who expect to keep fully up with the progress of events, with the 

improvements in the sciences and arts, and with the changing methods of 

study and instruction. 

— Daniel Putnam. 

When liberty is abused, a scholar may be put under restraint. When 
duty is violated, and the rights of others are wantonly disregarded, confine- 
ment will afford time for reflection, and at the same time relieve others from 
the annoyance and detriment of evil example. Such restraint is often a 
wholesome discipline ; and confinement, if it be not too far protracted, is 
always safe. It should be remarked, however, that confinement in a dark 
apartment should never be resorted to by any teacher. There are insuper- 
able objections to it, growing out of the fears which many children early 
entertain of being alone in the dark, as also the fact that light as well as air 
is necessary to the vigorous action of the nervous system during the waking 
hours, especially in the daytime. It is well known that a child shut up in 
a dark room, even in the warmth of summer, speedily undergoes a depres- 
sion of temperature ; and if the confinement is unduly protracted, cold chills 
come over the system. For these reasons and others, if confinement is ever 
used as a punishment, it should be in a room properly lighted and heated. 

— David P. Page. 

There is another form of thought which provokes not a " laugh at men 

and things," but a " laugh with them." This form of thought, which 

Thackeray has defined to be a compound of wit and love, is better humor. 

Humor is wit, with an infusion of good-nature and tender sympathy. Wit 

is a brilliant flash; humor is a lingering sunbeam, cheering while it brightens. 

It is nobler than wit, for it mingles the tender emotions of the heart with 

the brilliant conceptions of the intellect. 

— Virginia Waddy. 

The subject of humor is character — not everything in character, not its 
graver faults or vices, but its peculiarities, its foibles, caprices, extravagances, 
anxieties, jealousies, childish fondnesses, and weaknesses generally — its 
affectation, vanity, and self-conceit. 

One who possesses a talent for the humorous, finds the greatest scope for 
its display in telling familiar stories, or in acting a whimsical part in assumed 
character. Even the mimicking of minute peculiarities of pronunciation 
or of grammatical faults in discourse is admissible in the humorous produc- 
tion. The object is to expose the weak points of the individual under 
description, and these are often best set forth by entering into the minutest 
details. Even over-acting, if not immoderate, contributes to the entertain- 
ment of the picture. 

— G. P. Quackenbos. 



QUESTIONS ON THE SCHOOLMASTER IN 
COMEDY AND SATIRE 



1. How is a teacher's ignorance of the literature of his profession satirized 
by Scribe? 

2. What were the leading features of the Gradgrind system of education ? 

3. How is pedantry in language satirized by Rabelais? 

4. How does Pope characterize the education of the elementary schools 
in his day? 

5. How does Pope satirize the narrowness of specialists ? 

6. What was the plan of elimination set forth by Alexander Petrovitch 
in the sketch by Gogol? 

7. What characteristics of a teacher are satirized by Robertson in his 
portraiture of Mr. Krux, the schoolmaster? 

8. What danger to students is portrayed in Willis's Scholar of 
Thebet Bex Khorat? 

9. What were the tests of Teletiiaque's education, as related by Fenelon ? 

10. What was the effect of harsh discipline upon the childhood of Lady 
Jane Grey? 

11. How does Saxe satirize charlatan schemes for acquiring an education 
without mental labor ? 

12. What ideas of education for girls are inculcated by Berquin ? 

13. What form of mannerism of the teacher was satirized by Scribe? 

14. What advice of Rabelais' Gargantua to Pantagruel in reference to 
the study of languages would be deemed unwise at the present day? 

15. How does Pope satirize the minute criticism of the universities of 
his time ? 

588 



QUESTIONS 589 

16. What was the moral influence of French Pensions upon boys, as 
illustrated by Berquin ? 

17. What objection has been urged by teachers to Eckstein's Visit to 
THE Cell? 

18. What is the most general objection to the scheme of education por- 
trayed by Rabelais ? 

19. How is the teaching of spelling and reading satirized in D'Arcy 
Thompson's Caieteiim? What were the proposed equipments of the teachers ? 

20. Mention three general characteristics of Shakspeare as a dramatist. 

21. How is the mannerism of a schoolmaster burlesqued by Eckstein? 

22. How is excessive object teaching satii'ized by Swift? 

23. In a general education, what degree of acquaintance with the classics 
is especially desirable ? 

24. To what schoolmasters in fiction has the name Holofernes been 

given ? What is its satirical import ? 

25. How is the old-time teaching of the alphabet satirized by Eabelais? 

26. What class of juvenile literature was originated by Fenelon ? How 
has its influence increased in modern education? 

27. What was Maria Edgeworth's favorite form of contrast? 

28. How does Gogol satirize his own great undertaking in literature? 

29. How is over-conservatism in pronunciation satirized by Shakspeare? 

30. What was the result of the training of Louisa and Cecilia, under the 
Gradgrind sys'tem ? 

31. What form of punishment in a German gymnasium is portrayed by 
Eckstein ? 

32. \Miat was the lamentable result of Tentetnikof 's education ? 

33. How did Te'lemaque's education enable him to resist the temptation 
of ambition ? 

34. What place has the study of character in modern education? 

35. How is the preparation of the teacher satirized in Dickens' descrip- 
tion of ]Mr. M'Choakumchild's training? 

36. How does Saxe characterize popular translations from the French? 

37. What characteristic of a teacher is satirized in Robertson's por- 
traiture of Dr. Sutcliffe ? 



590 QUESTIONS 

38. What trait of Mr. Bounderby is especially satirized by Dickens ? 

39. What influence has Russian despotism upon the Russian novel ? 

40. What traits of members of a school board are humorously portrayed 
by Bardeen ? 

41. What astronomical facts were stated, by a remarkable accident, in 
Swift's satire ? 

42. What is D'Arcy Thompson's theory as to the school " dunce " ? 

43. In Pope's satire, what political philosophy are the universities of 
England satirically recommended to teach ? 

44. What features of the education of girls are satirized by Saxe ? 

45. What is the distinction between coarseness and prurience? Which 
is the more harmful ? 

46. How is the tutor satirized in The Greater Dunciad ? 

47. What good end was, after all, subserved by the coarseness of Rabelais ? 

48. What features of school examinations are satirized by Robertson ? 

49. What lessons are taught by the life of Dean Swift ? 

50. In what forms of mental training were the people of Lagado wholly 
deficient, according to Swift? 

51. What are the leading characteristics of Pope's versification ? 

52. What weaknesses of a graded school principal are humorously por- 
trayed by Bardeen ? 

53. What rank did Robertson hold among contemporary dramatic writers? 

54. How is inductive learning burlesqued in King Ferdinand's 
Academy ? 

55. How did Scribe set a notable example to other writers in his personal 
relations with men ? 

56. How did Biron, of King Ferdinand's Academy, begin a reform in 

his speech ? 

57. What can you say of the versatility of Eckstein's genius ? 

58. What type of character of the student is described by Shakspeare as 
dangerous ? 

59. What are the best works of Colman the Younger ? 

60. How does Scribe satirize the ease with which educational charlatans 
impose upon the people ? 



QUESTIONS 591 

61. How is the undignified teacher lampooned by Colman and Scribe? 

62. How does D'Arcy Thompson satirize the parsing of Latin poetry ? 

63. What knowledge of the evil in the world should be communicated to 
boys in school, according to Gogol? 

64. What is included in the character of a mentor, as depicted by 
Fenelon ? 

65. What lesson in school discipline is inculcated by Bardeen, in Roderick 
Hume ? 

66. In Gogol's work, what was remarkable in the regard of Petrovitch's 
pupils for their schoolmaster ? 

67. In Pope's satire, what is represented by the cup of Magus ? 

68. What lesson is the teacher to learn from Eckstein's story of Dr. Samuel 
Heinzerling ? 

69. How is a want of unity among the teachers of a school illustrated 
by Gogol? 

70. How is modern charlatanism in science ridiculed by Saxe ? 

71. How is casuistry in reasoning satirized in King Ferdinand's 
Academy ? 

72. What great sacrifice of an Arab boy for the pursuit of knowledge is 
portrayed by Willis ? 

73. How has the study of the lower forms of life in the animal and 
vegetable world contributed, in our day, to human progress? What was 
Pope's error in his reference to such study ? 

74. Why is it impracticable at the present time for a student to make a 
thorough study of all the sciences ? 

75. What were the influences of Berquin's and of Maria Edgeworth's 
writings upon the character of children ? 

76. What influence had Rabelais upon succeeding writers on education ? 

77. In what estimation is the writing of books for children held at the 
present time ? 

78. What calamity did Berquin escape by his early death? 

79. What was the significance of the Samian letter in the schools of 
ancient times? To what misuse is it given in Pope's satire? 

80. What are the essential principles of Pestalozzianism? 



592 QUESTIONS 

81. What are the prmcipal characteristics of the schoolmaster in King 
Ferdinand's Academy ? 

82. What was Aschatn's plan of teaching the classics ? How is it re- 
garded at the present day ? 

83. What is the best means of safety in temptation, as taught by 
Fenelon ? 

84. How can history and geography be successfully combined in teaching ? 

85. How is the borrowing of trouble satirized by Swift ? What should 
be the influence of education upon a pupil's disposition to borrow trouble*? 

86. How is the conferring of honorary degrees satirized by Pope V 

87. What juvenile books of your acquaintance belong to the school of 
writing invented by Fenelon ? What is their general value ? 

88. How does Bardeen satirize the neglect of apparatus in some schools? 

89. How are the vicious influences of " fast " city life upon children illus- 
trated by Miss Edge worth ? 

90. In your own experience, what is the extent of the danger portrayed 
byWiUis? 

91. How are school " fads " satirized by Swift ? 

92. What is the aim of Gogol in his portraiture of Alexander Petrovitch ? 
How does this differ from most of his delineations ? 

93. What was Dr. Heinzerling's requirement as to expression in a render- 
ing of the Philoctetes ? 

94. What amusements derived from French teachers were discarded by 
Alexander Petrovitch, in the school portrayed by Gogol? WTiat were sub- 
stituted for them ? 

95. What was Pope's sarcasm on the vocal rendering of Latin poetry? 
How is this regarded at the present time ? 

96. What use is made of fairy tales in primary schools of the present 
time? 

97. What error was committed by Tentetnikof in his training of the 
serfs ? 

98. How does Pope satirize the absence of religious training in educa- 
tion ? 

90. ^V"hat does Gogol say of the manner of his teachers in lecturing? 

100. What qualities of the successful teacher are portrayed by Bardeen? 



